Stale M&M's : The Stories of Oliver's Past
by thewalkerinme
Summary: This is the elaboration on the skipped stories of Oliver De Luca before and during The Outbreak. Gore, cussing, violence, sexual references and some budding Carl/OMC. Based off of Stale M&M's original story. Check that out first if you are interested :)
1. Rainbow Mika

This is a spin off series that is based off of my original story **Stale M&M's**  
>If you enjoyed my OMC, Oliver De Luca and would like to learn more about his past, pre and post apocalypse, keep reading. If you don't have any clue about what I am talking about, then you probably won't want to read any more :) but if you are interested, by all means keep reading. Though, I do suggest you read <strong>Stale M&amp;M's<strong> first by going into my profile and finding it there.  
>Each chapter will be at a random point in Oliver's past. It may tell an important story, or something completely irrelevant.<p>

I am writing this just for fun. Over the gap between seasons and parts, I've got to find someway to occupy my self in my free time :)

Enjoy!

**Beginning of chapter**

_Just over three weeks before The Prison Attack. Oliver has lived at The Prison for about two months._

_Oliver is fifteen._

_Late November (About a month after chapter 4 when they explored The Tombs)_

It wasn't often that I had a day off of my chores in the kitchen with Carol and my brother, Patrick. But today was one of them. And I was determined to make the most of it.  
>"Story Time," I said to my brother as we lounged in our cell, comic book rested on my chest as I sprawled across my bottom bunk, and my brother above me, fiddling with the rubix cube he had found a few days ago.<br>"Hmm?" Patrick questioned, too immersed in the puzzle to remember what I had said, and even then, as he asked, he didn't stop twisting the colours as he fought relentlessly to match them.  
>"Story Time," I repeated.<br>"Oh. Yeah. What time is it starting today?"  
>"Eleven. Same time as always, dork."<br>"What time is it now?" Patrick asked, ignoring my goad.  
>I rolled over and checked the small clock on the bedside table. "Eleven," I answered, then realised what I had said. "Oh, shit. We're late!"<br>"Watch your mouth," Patrick reprimanded as he climbed down from his bed, dodging me as I hurried to the door.  
>"Pat, come on!" I grumbled, watching impatiently as he took his time to pull on his sneakers. "Leave the cube."<br>It was only then that Patrick realised he was still holding it. He quickly tossed it onto the top bunk for later and pulled on his sweater. "Dude, alright."  
>We headed down to the library together. Meeting the other kids, Mika, Lizzie, Molly, Luke and the rest. It wasn't just me and Patrick late that day. Carol hadn't arrived yet either.<br>But a few minutes later she came along, lugging a big cardboard box full of something we all figured was just some more tools for her survival lessons. But we soon found out that wasn't the case.  
>"We're going into the car park today," the Peletier stated clearly to us all.<br>"Why?" Patrick asked curiously as she plopped the cardboard box in his arms, expecting correctly that he would be happy to help.  
>Carol faced us all, smiling as she looked everyone in the eye for a quick, reassuring moment. "You know that <em>big, blank, boring<em> wall out there?" she asked.  
>"The side of A-Block?" Lizzie asked.<br>"The one with all the bullet holes?" Luke asked next before Carol answered the first question.  
>She nodded to both children.<br>"Why are there bullet holes in there. Was it from when this place was a real prison?" Molly asked.  
>"No," Carol said, "it was from The Attack 'bout half a year ago."<br>"With The Governor?" I asked suddenly, remembering his name from what Carl had told me. It wasn't often for me to speak up in Story Time. I'd always been more of an observational person, but not at that moment.  
>Carol simply nodded.<br>The Attack of The Prison is some what of a legendary story around here. There were only a handful of people at The Prison at that point that had witnessed it, all of which won the battle and then later allowed the innocent (and only left living, bar Karen, Tyreese and Sasha) of the enemy side to come live here. When Carl explained it, telling me and Patrick about the death and the manipulation and the terror The Governor caused, I couldn't help but be impressed by it all. Thinking of the story as if it were an old wives tale that wasn't to be taken seriously, even though nothing on Carl's expression told me that The Governor was a man to be taken lightly.  
>"C'mon, let's head out," Carol chirped, pulling me from my thoughts.<br>The walk to the car park was filled with giggling and high pitched chatter and silly questions that Carol wouldn't answer properly, wanting to keep what we were doing as a surprise for now.  
>The car park was as it always was. The Jeep, pick up truck and yellow bus was parked neatly along the fence, and the ammo bins were lined up beside them. A run had gotten back yesterday, they'd run into a little bit of trouble and the Jeep was still covered in walker entrails. But no one was seriously hurt, just a few cuts and bruises, so everyone was in relatively good spirits that day.<br>It was Patrick who spoke first, while the other kids and I kind of stared with a mixture of intrigue and disgust at the vehicle. "Ma'am. Can I put this down now?"  
>"Yes, sorry, Patrick," she said.<br>He put down the box, exchanged a glance with the woman to silently ask if he could open it and she nodded. So he quickly flipped it open, gasping a chuckle as his eyes fell upon the content. "What are we using it all for?"  
>I couldn't resist myself as I rushed forward with the others to get a look.<br>The box was filled with chalk crayons of all colours. And my, along with everyone else's, eyes swallowed up the colours with a vengeance, having lived in The Prison for so long, apart from Michonne's rainbow cat ornament, we were rarely granted with such visual diversity. To put it bluntly, we missed colour, and the sight we were staring at was nothing short of mesmerising.  
>I understood what we were doing now, and I turned to Carol, my smile widening by the moment.<br>"We're drawing, aren't we?" I asked, already knowing her answer. "On the wall?"  
>Carol was all too happy to nod, motioning us all to get started.<br>"What do we draw?" Mika asked curiously, taking a yellow chalk and advancing on the wall as if it were an animal of prey.  
>"Anything you want," Carol said, grabbing a handful of different chalk colours for herself.<br>I took a red one. Patrick a purple.  
>"Draw something that makes you smile," the Peletier added.<br>So we went to work on the wall like rabid animals. It was brilliant. Patrick drew what was suppose to be a lego character, the idiot. Mika drew the sun with a little smiley face, her love of astronamy, that she would later share with me, shining through as she drew. Molly drew a flower and Luke drew the stalk, both of them working in a little team like they always did. Lizzie drew what we all thought was her mother, but she insisted that it wasn't, and that it was a walker she had seen on the fence... We all just sort of laughed it off to avoid awkwardness and left her to it...  
>It was while I was trying my best to draw (a very poor) drama symbol. You know, the one with the two drama masks, one laughing and the other crying. It was terrible, but it made me smile so I knew I was doing what Carol wanted. Anyway, it was as I was drawing the ribbon hanging off of one of the masks that Carl strolled up from the vegetable garden from chores.<br>I had spotted him earlier, down there with Hershel and his father tending to the pigs. Violet, the eldest female, gave birth three days ago and the three have been working restlessly to tend to her and her piglets ever since.  
>I got butterflies. I hate to admit. But I did. Like I always did when he made an appearance around me. But I brushed it off and tried to ignore it as I nodded to him.<br>He was about to continue past the car park and go back to his own block, but when he made eye contact with me he stopped and changed his mind. He hesitated, not entirely wanting to involve himself with Story Time which I accepted, but he must have guessed it wasn't so embarrassing seeing as it was outside maybe, because he followed out his change of mind and greeted us.  
>"Hey," he said quietly to me and Patrick, stepping around a few of the other's as they continued to sketch away.<br>"Hey, man," I smiled at him, rolling the chalk in my hands and feeling the green powder rub off on my fingers.  
>"What's with the drawings?" he asked a little mockingly, but there was something else... Was Carl Grimes... curious?<br>Sensing this, too, Carol glanced at him from the rainbow that she was drawing. "You wanna join us?" she offered the Grimes.  
>He frowned and shook his head. "I'm good."<br>"Alright," Carol shrugged, raising her brow as if to say "you're missing out, though," and Carl almost rolled his eyes at her, and even though he didn't, Carol still chuckled and exchanged a joking glance with him. It impressed me, their unspoken communication. It was mere facial expressions or small gestures that was all they needed to talk to each other. Much like the rest of the original group who came here. Glenn, Maggie, Daryl, Carl, Rick, Carol, Beth and Hershel. They were just so close knit.  
>I was kind of wanting to continue my own drawing now. So I gave them an awkward smile, "I'm, gonna, keep drawing now."<br>Carl smirked, turning to Patrick to talk to him for a moment, and so I went back to drawing for a while longer.  
>I couldn't get it right. The damned drama symbol. The chin looked too square and the ribbons looked like weird little leaves. I was close to giving up, but then, just as I sighed and was about to step away in defeat, a dark green flannel shirt sleeve slid past my head, white chalk in the fair extremity as it began gently sketching the light pigment over the wall.<br>It was Carl. He was fixing my drawing for me, noticing my dismay towards it.  
>I could hear his steady breathing as he stood slightly behind me. I could almost feel his arm as it hovered next to my shoulder. I almost froze to the spot, and my breath caught without me meaning it to. I glanced at him, my face too close to his so I withdrew slightly, stepping out of his way to let him stand where I was so he could draw better.<br>"I thought you didn't wanna draw," I said once I swallowed the cat from my tongue.  
>He smirked, keeping his blue eyes fixated on the wall, his cerulean orbs so bright and focussed and deep that I wondered if I could bring myself to look away from them. But then he looked at me, and I did look away, my eyes dropping instantly out of awkwardness.<br>"I didn't," he said. "But I couldn't keep watching you make it look like they were constipated."  
>I laughed. Patrick, too. "Shut up. Like you could do any better," I retorted.<br>Carl raised his brow, then without saying anything else, simply gestured with his eyes to my drawing.  
>I sceptically followed his gaze, shifting my narrowed eyes to the wall. "Whoa!" I breathed before I could stop myself, amazed as I took a look at the drama symbol.<br>It was brilliant. I could see my green chalk underneath, scruffy and childish and oddly shaped, but then on top, his white chalk markings, echoing mine but in the right places, making the drawing look like the real thing. The two contrasting faces stood out from the wall, one laughing, with the deep, laugh lines in his face, his mouth wide and curved and his brow arched in his amusement. And the other, crying, sobbing, distraught, with tears rolling down his cheeks. I could almost hear them, laughing and wailing in my mind at the same time.  
>"Like it?" he asked.<br>I looked at him and scoffed, thinking he was joking. But he was genuinely asking. "Like it? It's awesome, man. Jeeze, where'd you learn to draw like this?" I said.  
>Carl shrugged, "Been here for a while - lots of paper and pencils and time... I got good, I guess."<br>"I'll say," Patrick chimed quietly, admiring the teenage Grimes' work.  
>"That's great, Oliver," Carol said also, joined by a few exclaims of agreement from a few of the others.<br>I shook my head, "Wasn't me," I said, gesturing to Carl.  
>"You're great at drawing," Mika said to him, most of the others echoing her.<br>Carl became modest then, his smile stiffening and becoming coy with all the compliments. He made a noise of discomfort, scratching the back of his neck and then running his palm up and over his head.  
>I grinned at him, but then I felt a tug on my flannel shirt. "Hm?" I hummed, turning and glancing down at the source. "Jesus christ, Mika!"<br>She startled at my outburst. But it was for valid reason. Mika Samuels, who's long hair was usually blond and her completion fair, was now covered with colour. With streaks of blue and yellow and green and orange over her skin, and then patches of bright pink and red and turquoise and purple in her hair. She was a powdery walking rainbow!  
>"Jeeze, Mika," Carol laughed, glancing between the rainbow she had drawn and the living rainbow in front of her. "You put my drawing to shame that's for sure."<br>"I got a little carried away," she mumbled, clapping her hands and grinning when the blue and green chalk created a large cloud in front of her face.  
>"You look like Michonne's cat sculpture," I laughed.<br>"I love this stuff!" Mika exclaimed, clapping again and ensuing another cloud of every colour spectrum. "I almost forgot about it."  
>I kept laughing, Patrick and the other's doing the same as we took in the brilliantly picturesque nine-year-old. Carl, like always, wasn't laughing. But I was sure I could see him fighting the small smile pulling at his lips.<br>"Let's get you cleaned up, sweetie," Carol said as she took Mika's shoulders and guided her back to D-Block to wash, Lizzie grinning as she followed after her sister.  
>Most of the others kept drawing, but I'd had enough and was sort of craving to get my hands on the Thor comic Michonne had brought me and Carl back. Carl seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he nudged my arm and asked if Patrick and I wanted to join him back in his cell to read.<br>So we did, though, not before Patrick went and retrieved his rubix cube. But after that, for a good few hours, the three of us hung around in C-Block. Carl and I read our comics, occasionally asking the other something about the characters or blurting out something we felt strongly opinionated with as we read it, and Patrick sat cross legged on the top bunk the whole time, turning and twisting his rubix cube with a fury that would have worried me if I didn't know him so well.  
>We only stopped to head down to dinner in the evening and then, after, we all went straight back to Carl's cell again and continued our enrichment.<p>

"I got it!"

Both Carl and I startled horrifically at Patrick's shout. We were sat beside each other on the bottom bunk, me with my legs stretched on front of me and Carl with his knees up by his chest, chin rested on top of them.  
>Carl startled so badly that he recoiled away from the noise, crumpling into me before realising what he was doing and sitting up again. I laughed at both of them, staring up at the bunk and waiting for Patrick to swing his head over it and explain.<br>Finally he did, leaning over the side of the bed so far that I was afraid he would fall straight off. "Guys! I finished the rubix cube!"  
>I sneered at him, arching my brow, "What do you want? A medal?"<br>My brother rolled his eyes, "Shut up. Ass."  
>"I'm kidding, dork. I'm proud of you," I reassured him.<br>Patrick hopped off of the bunk, colour coded cube proudly in his hand. "I'm heading back. See you later," he said happily.  
>I close my comic, "Okay, see you, Carl," I told him.<br>"No, I'm heading back. You don't have to come with me, dude," my brother said.  
>It was strange, the thought hadn't even come into my mind. That Carl would want me there without Patrick, too. Despite the fact that we often did things without him now, much the same with Patrick doing stuff without me. I guess it was just a habit. Having spent almost a year with just Patrick and I, before those five months, Patrick's and I just became a pair.<br>I glanced at Carl, silently asking him what he thought of it all.  
>"Yeah, you wanna stay for a bit?" he said, looking up at me over his Batman comic book.<br>I nodded, not really knowing what else to say.  
>"Uh, okay then," Patrick said after a moment, giving me a strange look before simply turning and leaving the cell.<br>I bobbed the comic in my hand, before stepping back over to the bed and taking a seat where I was sat before. We sat in comfortable silence for a little while longer, engrossed in our comics. Finally, I finished my comic, grunting in annoyance when it ended on a cliffhanger. "Wait," I mumbled. "Wait!"  
>"What?" Carl tried not to grin at my annoyance.<br>I snapped my head to the teenager, frowning as I showed him the page.  
>"Oh, cliffhanger, huh?" he smirked.<br>"Damn right! Please tell me you have the next volume somewhere?" I begged.  
>Carl cracked a real grin for the first time that day. "Yeah, calm down. Up there," he threw his chin up to the bunk above. "Volume 4."<br>"Thank God," I mumbled as I rose from the bottom bunk, standing up on it to reach over the top and grab the pile of comics Carl kept up there. I spotted the volume I needed, quickly grabbing it and grinning at the epic cover photo of Thor knelt down with his hammer slamming into the ground. "Alright," I mumbled in triumph to myself.  
>I heard Carl chuckle, and I bent to the side to look at him. "What?"<br>"You're talking to yourself again."  
>I frowned at him and then stood up again to hide my flushing cheeks, grimacing from my embarrassment so that he wouldn't see. But that was when I noticed the thick brimmed glasses neglected on the bed in front of me.<br>I grab them, "Pat left his glasses," I tell Carl. "I should probably go give them to him. He's kinda blind without them."  
>I stepped off of the bed, only to be caught off guard by the slightly disgruntled expression on Carl's face.<br>"You okay?" I asked.  
>He quickly straightened his face, "Y-yeah... I was just gonna ask if you wanted to sleep over. You know, if you wanted." Then he smiled awkwardly. "But the alarm'll go off at six in the morning."<br>I nodded, a little too fast at first, "Yeah. Sounds cool. I'll go get my things. Pat's probably needing his glasses anyway."  
>Carl nodded and settled his smile. "Yeah. Why'd he leave them if he can't see without 'em?" he asks curiously.<br>I shrugged, "He always does that. Takes them off when he doesn't need them too much, like if he's not doing anything. He probably realised half way down the corridor and was too lazy to come back and get them."  
>Carl chuckled, "Sounds like him. 'Kay, see you in a bit?"<br>I nodded, "Yep. See you in a bit."

Patrick was getting dressed when I walked into our cell.  
>"You left your glasses," I told him as he buttoned his pyjama top.<br>"Thanks," he said, holding out his palm as I dropped the spectacles into it.  
>"Uh, listen," I said, holding Patrick's eye contact once he had slipped on his glasses and could see me again. "I'm gonna sleep over in Carl's cell. Is that okay?" I asked him, for I didn't know if he would want to join and I was expecting to have to tell him that he couldn't because there were only two beds.<br>But Patrick nodded. "Yeah, dude, totally. See you in the morning. I'll come get you for chores."  
>I leant against the door frame, thumbing at the cold, metal bars. "You sure?" I asked, a little surprised by why he was so quick to accept.<br>"Yep," Patrick nodded, something flickering over his expression that looked slightly distracted.  
>"What?" I asked sceptically, narrowing my eyes at him.<br>He shrugged, trying to hide his smirk, "Nothing."  
>"No, there is," I insisted. "You're excited about something. Aren't you?"<br>Patrick grinned, "What do you think?"  
>I furrowed my brow. "Well, I'm not sure. You're not telling me, dork."<br>"Trust me, dude. You don't wanna know."  
>I scoffed, pulling myself off of the door frame and crossing my arms. "Try me," I demanded, not understanding what he was implying, for if I had I definitely wouldn't have asked.<br>He laughed and squared up to me. "It's been weeks since I have had a cell to myself... Dude, I've been waiting for a night to finally have on my own," he said, giving me his first few clues on what it was he was so excited about doing.  
>But I still hadn't cottoned on. The painfully innocent fool I was. "So?" I said.<br>Patrick's eyes widened in annoyance, "_So..._ It's kinda off-putting jerking off when your little brother is in the bunk underneath you."  
>"Eugh!" I grimaced, shoving his shoulder, "That's fucking gross, man!"<br>He fell back against the bed at my force, laughing hysterically at my reaction.  
>"God, I coulda gone my whole life without knowing that," I hissed, quickly grabbing my toothbrush and a spare set of clothes, frowning in disgust as I did.<br>"You were the one who wouldn't let it go!"  
>"I didn't know you were gonna tell m... - you know what? I don't give a shit. Masturbate all fucking night if you have to, you freak. I'm leaving. See you tomorrow morning. Just... don't <em>touch<em> me when you wake me up."  
>"Dude!" Patrick grimaced a laugh, "I wont. God," he kept laughing, and it took him a moment to stop. "I'll see you in the morning, Oliver."<br>I shook my head as I left the cell, trying to forget about the whole conversation as I made my way back to C-Block.

"Hey," I said upon entering Carl's cell.  
>He wasn't alone, Judith was on his lap and he was feeding her some formula. "Hey," he said to me. "She's almost done. Dad'll come get her in a minute."<br>"I don't mind," I reassured him, tossing my clothes up on to the top bunk and then going over to the sink to brush my teeth.  
>When I was finished, I went and sat opposite the teenager and his little sister, smiling without meaning to as Judith sleepily drank from her bottle. There was no denying it, Judith Grimes was adorable.<br>She finally finished her bottle, and that was when Carl glanced up at me from her, raising his brow expectantly. "Hold her a sec? I wanna go get changed," he said.  
>I frowned in worry, "On my own?" I asked like an idiot. I had held Judith a few times before, all of which occasions were awkward, but they were also supervised by either Carl, Rick, Beth or Carol. But this was different. I would be on my own with the baby. If anything went wrong I would be responsible.<br>"Yeah," Carl said, and then before I could bring myself to protest, he pushed her into my arms, stood up from the bed, grabbed his pyjamas and toothbrush and left his cell to dress in the shower rooms.  
>For a moment I was stunned. I just stared at the baby as she glanced uncomfortably from me to around the room. She was so uncomfortable because in the rush of it all, I was sort of holding her like one would hold a vicious cat, both my arms outstretched in front of me under each of her armpits and holding her stiffly over the bed. Her legs dangled below her and she kicked them out at the air, babbling to herself.<br>I finally managed to collect my thoughts, shaking off my awkwardness and then holding her properly. "Sorry, Little Ass Kicker," I said in jest. Not that I had an audience. Mainly because my only audience was a baby that had the vocabulary that was about the range of a tea spoon.  
>I could hear someone walking towards Carl's cell, and for a moment I thought it was him, but the footsteps were too heavy and they scuffed slightly.<br>It was Rick, Carl's father.  
>"Oh," he sort of double took when he saw me sat on the bed where his son was sat minutes before. Probably thinking I was Carl for a moment due to our similar hair styles. "Oliver."<br>"Hi, Mr. Grimes. Sorry, Carl's just getting changed."  
>"No problem," he said, reaching down to take Judith from me. "I gotta put her down for the night. It's getting late, you should probably head back to your cell soon before it gets dark."<br>"Oh," I blurted, "uhm. Carl invited me to sleep over."  
>Rick's brow rose for a moment and he was about to say something, but Carl strolled into his cell just as he opened his mouth.<br>"Oliver's sleeping in here tonight," he said, apparently not hearing me say that before.  
>"Okay," Rick said, looking kind of glad that Carl was being so hospitable. "But be warned, Oliver, our clock goes off an hour before D-Block's."<br>I smiled, "Yeah, Carl said."  
>Rick nodded and let a smile pull at the corner of his mouth, "Okay. Jus' don't be late for chores in the morning, either o' you."<br>"We won't," Carl said.  
>"And don't stay up too late reading comic books," Rick added, smiling, and I realised that he was<em>really<em> happy about all of this. I supposed it wasn't often he was able to act like a stereotypical parent like that.  
>Carl sighed, clearly not as amused by it all as his father was. "We wont," he repeated, sounding more irritated that time.<br>Rick let out a small chuckle, "Alright. Have a good sleep-over."  
>Both Carl and I stared at him at that, as neither of us had even considered calling it that. Though, I was gracious enough not to scowl at the man like Carl did.<br>Rick took the hint, smirking as he propped Judith up on his side and turned out of the door.  
>I laughed when he was out of ear-shot, "<em>Sleep over<em>," the sarcasm and mocking in my voice was obvious.  
>"Keep calling it that and I'll make you sleep on the floor," Carl grumbled.<br>I scoffed, "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today."  
>He narrowed his eyes at me, though, he didn't reply. He simply grabbed the comics we were reading before and slumped on to his bed beside me. But he was smiling slightly, so I knew he wasn't really angry.<br>We sat and read for a while after that. It was nice. It might not seem all that, but simply sitting with a friend and doing something both of us enjoyed that required no effort... That was gold to us.  
>I hadn't realised when I began to get tired. And I only did when Carl suddenly held his comic in front of my face, but it was at an odd angle, and I finally realised that I had let myself lie across the bed. I was on my back, legs bent with my knees facing skyward (top-bunk-ward) and my head beside Carl's pelvis.<br>"What is up with him?!" Carl blurted, shaking his comic in front of me.  
>"Who?" I grumbled, accidentally dropping my comic on the floor as I was holding it loosely in my hand as I dosed off.<br>"Aquaman," Carl said, "he's a dweeb."  
>I rolled my head back to grin at him, seeing him upside-down and staring down at me with a frown. "You only just realise that?" I asked incredulously.<br>"_No_," he said, taking back the comic. "It's just - look, he's right there, trying to make peace, but he could just get that shark to maul the bad guy and it'd be over."  
>It was an amusing and rare sight to see Carl geek-out like this over his comics. "Yeah, but that's what makes it a story," I said, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. "You know? Because the comic would only be like two pages long if they defeated the bad guy straight away."<br>Carl rolled his eyes, "It'd save a lot more lives," he said, slightly glumly. "He could do it. Quick and easy, and everything would be over."  
>I held his gaze for a moment, thinking of all of the other times in Carl's life that that scenario would have been so much better. Because his resentment towards Aquaman seemed deeper than the stupid shark, as if it was aimed at something that had happened in his past.<br>Only now do I know that it was a mixture of regret and contempt towards many things. Andrew the prisoner; if Rick had killed him the day they found the prison, Lori wouldn't have been in the boiler room while in labour. And Dale; if Carl had simply shot that walker stuck in the mud, he could have stopped the whole tragedy.  
>But of course, I didn't know this back then, so I smiled and pulled myself to stand up. "I'm gonna go get dressed," I said, then quickly grabbed my pyjamas and hurried off to the shower room to change into them.<br>We stayed up a little later than we should have that night, talking about ridiculous things that I can't even remember anymore, muttering to one another from the bunk beds. I don't even remember ending the conversation, eventually, we just fell asleep.

**Notes**

Yep. So... this is a thing. Uh, not really sure who's gonna read this. I'm writing it more because I am unhealthily obsessed with Oliver's past. What with all of the references I keep giving to it during the real story, I keep craving really writing them.

So yeah. This was just a tester to see if anyone would want to read it, too. If so, I will update more. I will still update when I feel like it, but if people really like it I will do at least two updates a month (ish) XD.  
>Hope ya'll liked it. Comment to tell me what you thought :) Feel free to comment on what things you want to see, like, how Oliver found his machete or how they survived for the 10 months after the outbreak before their separation, or more stuff on Carl x Oliver's budding crushes etc. Basically, <strong>any <strong>time at all in Oliver's past.

Ps. Any Aquaman fanatics out there, please don't hate me xx

Happy reading xx :_)_


	2. The Beginning of The End: Part 1 of 2

**Prettyprincess **thank you! Your support means the absolute world to me!

_Virginia, Lorton. Oliver's home. The beginning of The Outbreak. The first and last day._  
><em>July time<em>

"Thanks for having me, Mrs. Rostenkowski," I waved as I stepped out of the blue, _ford focus._  
>"Bye, sweetie," the middle-aged, red haired woman smiled, starting up the engine.<br>"I'll call you later?" Penelope said, sticking her equally-as-red-haired-head out of the window.  
>"Yep, about the Shark Expedition," I said. The Shark Expedition was really just what we called heading down to the river and hanging out, which we had planned on doing in the next few days to try fishing. No sharks would have been included, obviously.<br>She grinned, her freckles practically bouncing off of her cheeks. "Bye, Ollie," she said, sticking her hand out to me as the car started to drive.  
>It was a ritual of ours, to high five as the car drove away. So I extended my arm and slapped her palm as the car drove past the pavement off of my driveway.<br>I went back inside, glad that my front door was unlocked because I was feeling too lazy to find my key in my back pack.  
>"Mom, I'm home."<br>I went into the dining room and grabbed my _Cirque du Freak_ book from the table.  
>"<em>Infection spreading to the East Coast."<em> The radio was playing in the kitchen, and I still had gotten no answer from Mom. _"Reports are inconclusive to the amount of casualties, but officials say controlling the virus is manageable and will be under control in due time. It is advised that uninfected public stay indoors away from threat. Infected are said to be dangerous. If you are infected, or have come into cont-"_  
>I switched it off. I wasn't listening to anything other than how much the woman's voice shook too much. It annoyed me.<br>I checked in the living room, and then the utility room for my mom before I finally remembered that she was at Book Club with her friends. So I trudged upstairs to look for Patrick. I noticed the suitcases on the stairs, and then I could hear the TV on in Patrick's room, and his voice.  
>But as I got closer, I could hear another voice. I almost didn't recognise him at first. He was articulate, like mine and Patrick's accent, but low and mature and authoritative and confident.<br>It was dad.  
>"Just, don't tell your brother... not yet, please...? That's a sport."<br>I didn't know what they were talking about, and he sounded sad and sympathetic. But it was my dad, so I hardly cared about what they were saying. I hadn't seen him for months since he was in Oklahoma for work. I rose on tip toes, excited that he was home, but I quickly suppressed my happiness, collecting myself and reminding myself that I couldn't show such behaviours around him, as, to me at least, Dad wasn't really the sort of person to show much extreme emotion around at all.  
>"Dad?" I said finally, pushing open Patrick's door.<br>They both startled, "Hey, little guy," Dad said as if I was a strange kid that had suddenly come up to him in the street and asked for money or food.  
>"Hey," I said back, and then stepped towards him, adjusting my back pack on my shoulder out of nervousness.<br>He stood and hugged me, it was a little awkward, but it meant the world to me. "When did you get back?" I asked when he pulled away.  
>"A few hours ago," Dad said, but his face was troubled.<br>"What is it?" I asked, furrowing my brow.  
>His mouth opened. But before he spoke, he exchanged a glance with Patrick.<br>My brother glared maliciously at him, gritting his teeth.  
>So Dad turned back to me, "Nothing. Uh, tell me what's been happening with you, Oliver. School, friends, girlfriends? I hear you and Penelope are close. Have you grown out of your barbies yet?"<br>I frowned at him.  
>"Dad," Patrick spoke up before I could. "They're not barbies, they're action figures." It was strange, even Patrick would make fun of me for them most of the time, so my confusion towards why he was sticking up for me was beginning to make me uncomfortable.<br>Dad looked between us, cocking his brow and trying to joke. It felt like talking to a stranger. "Same thing, right?" he asked us ignorantly.  
>I shook my head, my cheeks heating up in embarrassment and self consciousness. "N-"<br>"No! It's not!" Patrick barked, grabbing my arm as he pulled me out of his room. "And to answer your stupid questions. School sucks for him, he has one friend apart from me, Penelope and him are best friends and his _action figures_ are cool... You done pretending now, dad?! Did you get what you wanted?"  
>My breath caught, bracing myself for Dad's roar and expecting bitterly that I would be caught in the cross fire.<br>"Patrick, don't be like this-" Dad tried, frowning sadly.  
>My face contorted with my confusion, not following any of this at all.<br>"Stop!" Patrick cut him off. "Stop pretending, Dad. You've got what you wanted now. So just leave us alone."  
>It all was happening too quickly, and I just caught the hurt look on my father's face before Patrick pulled me out of his room and into mine.<br>"What was that about?" I asked as Patrick slammed my door closed, in doing so he knocked a few of my school books off of the desk from the gust of air. "Hey, watch it!"  
>"Sorry," he said, picking up his mess and then messily plopping the paper and books on my desk, before taking a seat on my bad, scowling as he did.<br>I sighed irritably and compulsively tidied up the scruffy pile he had left my books in, putting them in order like I liked them. And when I was done I sat beside him, picking up a Loki action figure from my window sill and thumbing at the long, golden horns on his helmet.  
>"They're not barbies," I grumbled under my breath, glaring at Loki, "He's an Anti-Hero Jötunn."<br>Patrick chuckled then. "They are dorky though."  
>I glared at him in outrage, "If you hate them so much, then why'd you say all that to Dad?" I ordered, placing the figure a little rougher than I meant to back on the window sill in my irritation. "Why are you so mad at him?"<br>Patrick gritted his teeth and examined me, sighing finally. "It doesn't matter," he said, about to leave.  
>But I grabbed his arm before he could stand, "Yes it does! Stop keeping secrets from me, you never tell me anything. I'm not a kid!"<br>But he shook me off, "Shut up you big baby."  
>"Screw you!"<br>"Don't cuss!"  
>I glared at him, trying to think of a swear word that I knew was bad, and "Dick head!" was the best I could do.<br>But he didn't retort like I wanted him to, instead he turned on his heel and left my room, slamming my door closed behind him and knocking all of my books off of the desk again. Leaving me, stood rigidly in the middle of my room, fuming and red faced and tearing up from my anger.  
>I cleaned up my room again, then slumped on my bed and read a comic for a little while to block out the confusion of everything that had just happened. But I couldn't focus, I wanted to know what my dad didn't want me to know about yet. I wanted to know why Patrick was so angry with us. I wanted to know why dad let him speak to him like that. I wanted to know when my mom was getting back from damned Book Club so I could talk to her about it!<p>

_~ A Few Hours Later ~_

"I-I got mugged!"

I was on my iPod, internet surfing for the name of the guy who played as _Spock_ in _The Original Star Trek Series._ But I heard her cry, and it paralysed me for a moment in shock, wondering if I was hearing things.  
>"What happened?" I heard Patrick say worriedly, and his shuffled footsteps as he and Dad rushed to the door. "Mom, are you alright?"<br>I rushed downstairs to see what was going on, and my heart leapt as the sight of her sobbing hysterically into Patrick's chest, mumbling in Italian and I only caught words like 'maniac' and 'he got him' and 'it was so wrong' because she was talking so fast.  
>Patrick and I tried to comfort her, cooing for her to calm down and eventually she settled down. I kept glancing at Dad for him to help her, too. But he didn't do anything, he only watched worriedly and kept his distance. But I didn't think about it much, wanting nothing other than for my mom to stop crying and for her not to be afraid anymore.<br>It took a while, and we were all so worried that we didn't notice it. But I saw the darker black on her jean leg...  
>It was wet.<br>I looked closer, and saw the deep, bleeding wound on her ankle.  
>My eyes widened, and my mind span. I knew what to do with cuts and injuries from a visit in class from a doctor who came in to talk one day a few weeks before. I remembered what he taught us, and I ran over it all in my mind, trying to remember what to do with a bleeding wound. So I went into the kitchen and got the first aid kit.<br>Dad and Patrick noticed it then, and they helped me clean Mom's injury and then patch it up. She kept talking in Italian, too afraid and shocked to find her English tongue yet.  
>Patrick made her some hot coco and I put some frozen peas on the swelling puncture wounds. Dad still did nothing.<br>"_It was awful,_" she said, still speaking in Italian and I knew that Dad didn't understand a word she was saying. "_I was on my way home from Book Club, walking with Susan. We got mugged... a man... he grabbed her... I thought he wanted our money so I tried to give it to him to stop him... but he wouldn't stop... he... he was attacking her. And then h-he attacked me... But, another man came and heard what was going on. He saved us, and we got away because of him. Susan went to the police, since she lives next door to them. But she told me to go home_ _and_ _look after_ _my boys -_ _you two._"  
>Eventually, we got Mom settled enough and we put her to bed. She was more tired than usual, Dad, Patrick and I figured it was just shock. Her bleeding was under control and she insisted that we didn't need to call an ambulance or the police, saying that Susan would have gotten to the cops and that he injuries weren't bad enough.<br>I sat with her for a little while, talking to her about the book she was reading at her club. _The Book Thief._  
>"<em>Ti è piaciuto?<em>" **_Did you like it?_** I asked her.  
>Mom nodded, her eyelids drooping. "<em>Ho finito questa mattina.<em>" **_I finished it this morning._** She told me.  
>I smiled and ran my hand over hers, glad that we could share our passion of books together.<br>"_Si tratta di un bel libro. La bambina ed il ragazzo mi fanno pensare a te e Penelope._" **_It's a beautiful book. The girl and the boy make me think of you and Penelope._** Mom whispered, smiling softly.  
>I frowned, letting out a laugh. "<em>Mom, Rudy Steiner alla fine muore. Ed era un bambino nazista.<em>"**_Mom, Rudy Steiner eventually dies. And he was a Nazi child._** I said in jest, chuckling at her.  
>She giggled tiredly, "<em>Oh, sì, ma, come fai a saperlo?"<em> **_Oh yeah, but, how did you know?_** She asked curiously, as she didn't know that I had already read the book. But the truth was, if it was readable, and it was in our house, I had read it at least twice cover to cover.  
>"I've read it," I mumbled, switching to English because I was hoping she wouldn't understand and leave it be.<br>But it was something we did often, switching languages mid-conversation. So of course, she grinned, letting out a small, weak laugh. "_Tu sei il libro ladro, tu ragazzo cattivo._" **_You're the book thief, you bad boy._** She scolded playfully, resting her hand on my shoulder in that way she sometimes would, comforting and reassuring me.  
>I grinned down at the floor, "<em>Scusi.<em>" **_Sorry._**  
>"<em>Va tutto bene, tesoro. Sono contento che ti sia piaciuto.<em>" **_It's okay, honey. I'm glad you enjoyed it._**  
>"<em>Ho fatto<em>." **I** **_did._**I nodded.  
>Just then my iPhone buzzed in my pocket. The loud <em>Doctor Who<em> theme tune crashing through the quiet around Mom and I. I fished it out of my pocket, seeing the familiar picture of the girl with the red hair and freckles you couldn't begin to count smiling at me from the screen.  
>"It's Penelope. She said she'd call me about our fishing trip."<br>"Shark Expedition," Mom grinned.  
>I frowned, chuckling, "You were eves dropping on us?" I said incredulously, realising that Mom must have heard me and Penelope talking about the trip a few days ago.<br>Mom nodded, "_Scusi._"  
>I scoffed, still hearing my ring tone, "Whatever. Doesn't matter. I gotta pick up or she'll get mad at me."<br>"Okay, sweetie," Mom said. "_Dolce sogni._" **_Sweet dreams._**  
>"Night, Mom. See you in the morning. Ask for me if you need anything."<br>She nodded, and with that I closed the bedroom door behind me and retreated into my room, touching the green answer button on the screen on my iPhone.  
>"<em>Hey, noob. Took you long enough to pick up."<em>  
>I scoffed into the phone and slumped face first into my bed. "Noob you," I retorted in jest, resting my head on my pillow and pressing the phone to my ear. "You finished the toblorone yet?"<br>It was Penelope's birthday yesterday, she turned fourteen. We celebrated by going to the amusement park together and then we had a sleep over after. Penelope, like me, wasn't big on parties, and she only had a few other friends at school other than me, so she didn't throw a party or anything. As a present, I gave her a spy glass and a toblorone chocolate bar.  
>"<em>Nope,"<em> she answered me.  
>"Good, I can scab the rest off of you when I'm at yours tomorrow."<br>"_Uh! No you wont! I'll eat it all now so you wont get the chance,"_ I could hear as she began chewing on the chocolate, mocking me through the phone and failing to have the desired effect.  
>I laughed. "Whatever, goof."<br>"_That's right,"_ she chuckled, still chewing. _"So, you're coming around mine tomorrow? When?"_  
>"I dunno, probably in the evening some time. Dad said he wanted to go out with me and Pat for lunch, so, yeah. Evening sound okay to you?"<br>"_We wont have time for The Shark Expedition in the evening though,"_ she moaned.  
>"I know, but we can do it another time," I reasoned.<br>"_Fine."_  
>There was a short pause as I let out a sigh, "I got in a fight with Pat."<br>"_Again?"_  
>"Yeah, but it wasn't about getting the last <em>Big Cat<em> this time."  
>"<em>What was it about?"<em> Penelope asked curiously.  
>I shrugged, but then realised that she couldn't see me. "I don't even know. He got mad at Dad. Told him to stop pretending-"<br>"_Pretending about what?"_ she interrupted.  
>"I don't know."<br>"_What did he do then? Your dad."_  
>"Nothing. Pat just took me into my room and wouldn't tell me what was bothering him. I got mad and he just walked out... Maybe they'll tell me tomorrow."<br>"_Yeah,"_ Penelope said. _"Why does your dad want you both so bad anyway?"_  
>"He's our dad," was the only thing I could think of to answer with.<br>"_You know what I mean. It's pretty rare that he makes an effort to spend time with you both... unless he needs to tell you both something big."_  
>"Like what?"<br>"_I dunno,"_ she said. _"What do you think he's gonna say?"_  
>I made a noise that meant I didn't know, "Um. Probably that he's taking a trip for another four months," I answered, the dismissive tone in my voice showing how unsurprising that would be.<br>For a long time Penelope didn't respond.  
>"Penelope?" I said, checking that my phone had signal. Two bars, not a lot, but it was enough. "Can you hear me?"<br>"_Ollie..."_  
>"What? Can you hear me okay?"<br>"_Ollie, do you think... maybe... your parents are... getting a divorce?"_  
>I grimaced incredulously. "What? No. Penelope, you can't just say that to someone."<br>"_Sorry, forget I said anyth – ugh! Drippy, get out of my room! You little turd!"_  
>"<em>I only want a little! Please?"<em> I recognised the desperate cry from Penelope's nine-year-old little sister, Drippy, in the background, and I smiled into the phone as I listened to them argue.  
>"<em>No, it's mine! Buzz off, squirt!"<em>  
>"Drippy still trying to get at the toblorone?" I asked, sneering into the phone.<br>"_Yes,"_ Penelope grumbled, and I heard a door slam and a growl of contempt from the unsatisfied Drippy as she stomped away. _"And just like you, she's not getting a bite of it!"_  
>"I'll find a way, don't you worry."<br>She scoffed. _"We'll see."_  
>But then I got to thinking about what she had said earlier. "Penelope...?" I asked, my voice unintentionally troubled.<br>"_Uh huh?"_  
>"Do you, uh, think my parents are gonna split up?"<br>She waited a moment too long to answer me. _"No, they're fine. I only said that because I was watching Jerry Springer earlier,"_ she joked.  
>I let myself laugh a little.<br>"_I'm sure it's fine, Oliver... They're fine."_  
>"Yeah," I said, naïvely more confident. I wanted to change the subject, and so I remembered everything that had happened that evening, "Oh, man. I gotta tell you, Mom got mugged."<br>"_Whoa! Really? Did she beat him up and make him pay?"_  
>"Penelope, I'm serious."<br>"_Sorry – continue, Ollie."_  
>So I did continue. And I told Penelope about Mom's injury and what she had said. Penelope mentioned about the virus going around, but she said that someone at Mom's work had it and was apparently fine now, so, after a while, our conversation drifted to things like school and super heroes and homework and how to avoid the bullies when we went back to school in the fall and Penelope told me what 8th grade was like since she was in the grade above me. She told me that it was worse than 7th grade... and I'd hated 7th grade that year, and so I was panicking about it even more. But she told be that we would struggle through it together like we had done for the past four years together.<br>Until finally, hours later when everyone was asleep. I said goodnight to the Rostenkowski and hung up the phone.  
>My curtains were still open. But I left them open that night, like I did most nights. The sky was clear and I could see every star that Virginian light pollution would offer. I liked the stars out of my bedroom window. I'm not sure why I liked them so much. And they never felt the same looking at them from anywhere else. They were soothing and I often fell asleep gazing at them, mulling over everything I had learnt that day or hated that day or had to do or face the next day. The stars became a routine. I didn't know any constellations other than The Big Dipper, and I wasn't even sure where it was. It was strange though, because it didn't matter how much I stared at them, the stars through my window I mean, I just never thought about them until it came to the time I would look at them. And when that time came, there was nothing I would like more.<br>I was just dosing off when I heard someone walking up the stairs. I figured it was dad or Patrick, and the thirteen-year-old mind I possessed made me think that I had to go and say goodnight to them, so I crept out of bed and opened my door a little.  
>It was Dad.<br>I was about to say goodnight to him, but I heard him sniff and saw him wipe his eyes.

He was crying.

I was stunned. I had never seen my father cry. And there he was, wandering past my room wiping his face from his tears. For a moment I wondered why he was downstairs for so long. He was in his pyjamas, too. I guessed that he had just gone downstairs to get a drink or something maybe.  
>He walked to his bedroom, and opened the door.<br>But I heard something...  
>A growl. It sent shivers of ice down my spine and I froze where I was.<br>"Rosa?" Dad whispered.  
>I realised it was Mom that was growling. And she did it again, louder this time.<br>"Rosa, I know you told me to stay downstairs," Dad said apologetically.  
>I frowned, confused by why Mom would tell him that. But Mom only hissed as a reply.<br>"I'm sorry. I just wanted to make sure you knew that. I know I can't fix any of this... but I need you to know... I'm sorry, Ros-"  
>But Mom didn't let him finish his apology. I heard the crash... and her shriek... and his scream.<br>Dad stumbled out of the bedroom, and that's when I saw her. Something was wrong with Mom. So wrong. She leapt on my Dad, tearing into his arms and face and snapping her teeth at him as he tried to push her away.  
>"Mom!" I cried, stumbling out of my room.<br>"Rosa, stop!" Dad screamed, his blood staining his clothes.  
>This wasn't like my mom. Not at all. She wasn't violent. She wasn't aggressive. She wouldn't ignore me like that or attack Dad, not even if she was angry at him for whatever reason.<br>I tried to pull her off of him, terrified and confused and adrenaline pumped, but still too weak to do so.

"Patrick!" I screamed for my brother. "PATRICK!"

**Notes**

Mrs. De Luca has no idea how much of a book thief Oliver was, especially with the thirty or so books he hoarded under his bunk in The Prison.

I'm just gonna say, it was really weird writing Oliver with a mobile phone... eugh... so Pre-Apocalypse! Haha  
>Hope you all enjoyed!<p>

I'll update part two in a few days or so. Feel free to suggest any more times to write about.

As always,

Happy reading xx :_)_


	3. The Beginning of The End: Part 2 of 2

**izumahunter **Thank you. Means a lot you liked it! XXX

"Mom! _Smettila!_ Please, Mom! _Smettila! Calmati!_ Please!" I was screaming at her, and Dad tried so hard not to hurt her as he fought her off.  
>The next thing that happened was so fast that for a moment I thought I had woken up from a nightmare. Because Mom wasn't clawing at my father anymore. But I could still hear her. The shrieks and growls emitting themselves from her throat tearing through my reality, pulling me from my shocked and terrified stupor to search for what had happened.<br>Patrick had pulled Mom off and pushed her into her bedroom again. I shot for him and pulled him back out, slamming the door closed before Mom could come after us.  
>She clawed at the door, making it shake violently and I was scared that she would break the hinges. I was crying at that point too. Hysterically. Patrick wrapped his shaking arms around me and tried to calm me as I wailed into his chest, mumbling at him for him to tell me what was wrong with her and why she was hurting Dad.<br>"Are you two alright?" Dad asked us, his voice shaking as he tried to stand up.  
>"Dad..." Patrick muttered. "Dad, you're bleeding."<br>I looked at my father, wincing when I saw the deep gashes from Mom's nails all over his arms and chest, and my hands flew to my mouth to stop the scream building at the back of my throat. Torn. That was the only word that whirled around I my mind, and it chilled me to the bone as I stared at him.  
>"I'm okay," Dad said - lied.<br>"Come here," my brother said to him, taking under Dad's arm. My room was open, so Patrick helped Dad into it. Dad was struggling badly. "Oliver, go get the first aid kit."  
>I nodded to my brother, but my legs didn't move as I stared wide eyed at the state my father was in, still hearing Mom hissing through her bedroom door beside me.<br>"NOW!"  
>"Sorry!" I gasped, springing into action and tearing down the stair case.<br>I hurtled into the kitchen, which was where the staircase directly lead to, and I was running so fast that I slammed into the fridge. But the first aid kit was on top, and it fell off and almost landed on me. But I caught it, and somehow, holding it felt like everything would be fine and I let the relief sweep over me. So I headed back upstairs to my room.  
>"Got it?" Patrick asked.<br>I was still staring at Mom's bedroom, hearing her gargles and groans from inside. So my brother got impatient.  
>"Did you get it, Oliver?!"<br>"Y-yeah," I muttered, opening the green box with hand that I only just realised were shaking.  
>The next few minutes consisted of Patrick and I carefully patching our father up. His bleeding was slowing and the cuts and scratches weren't deep enough to need stitching, but they were an off dark colour that had a slight green tinge to it.<br>"You need to call the ambulance," Dad got out. "They need to help your mom."  
>I did as he said, grabbing my phone and dialling 9-1-1. But all I got was a flat line.<br>"They're busy." I didn't mean to sound like I was begging.  
>"What?" Patrick and my dad said in unison.<br>I wasn't going to repeat myself, so I shoved the phone into Patrick's hand. "You try." I was panicking. And I didn't want to panic. Especially not in front of my dad.  
>Patrick got the same as I did. For a moment after, he just stood there, listening to the flat-line as the panic devoured him internally. I was scared he would explode with it if he held it in any longer.<br>Then Dad said that it was going to be fine, and told us not to worry about anything and that it was probably just a busy night for the hospital, but he was hurting badly, and Patrick and I knew that. So we stayed with him until he slept.  
>Dad was tired, like Mom was, and so it was only a few hours until he fell asleep. It was strange, Patrick didn't seem mad at him anymore, and Dad didn't mention anything about how rude Patrick had been to him. I didn't question it though, I just tried not to show how terrified I was.<br>We watched as his eyes finally closed, and his breathing became slow and calm. Mom had stopped growling, too.  
>Patrick placed my iPod back on my bedside table and turned to me. "C'mon," he whispered, taking my shoulder. "You should sleep in my room tonight."<br>"Why?"  
>"You can't sleep in here can you."<br>"I can sleep on the floor. Make sure Dad's okay."  
>Patrick took a long time to reply to me, and when he finally did his voice was low and shrill and it made my blood chill.<br>"I need you to stay with me tonight."  
>I knew he was terrified of something bigger and scarier than I knew about. I knew that there was something he had figured out that he wasn't telling me yet. Same old same old. I wasn't an idiot. I knew he had a valid reason and I wasn't going to argue, so I followed him out of my room.<br>Silently, we crept into Patrick's room across the hallway. I could hear Mom's heavy grumbling breath and I have no idea how I kept in my screams as she paced the room right next door to us all night. Neither of us slept. For hours we just curled up on the bed. Top and tail.  
>I stared at Patrick's messy floor, obsessively imagining picking up all of the clothes and ordering them into their places. Neatening his desk. Stacking his movies into a row of best movies to worst. Anything to take my mind off of everything. Until finally I couldn't take it anymore.<br>"What're we gonna do, Pat?" I whispered so quietly that I thought he wouldn't hear me.  
>But I felt him startle at my voice, his leg jolting against my back. "I don't know," is all he said.<br>Silence.  
>I had been fitting the pieces together ever since Mom attacked Dad. The radio with the shaky-voiced broadcaster. What Penelope had said about the virus spreading around. Mom... turning aggressive and... not my mom anymore...<br>"Is he gonna..." I had to swallow the grenade in my throat before I continued, "t-turn into..." again, I had to swallow it, "w-what Mom turned into?" But the grenade exploded, tightening my airways as it reacted to the stress of my question. I got my inhaler from my pocket and took a puff, taking a moment to breathe normally again in the silence that my question ensued.  
>"I don't know," he said again.<br>"He was only scratched... maybe it doesn't spread like that," I tried, hoping that if I heard it out loud that I would believe myself. But it didn't do much.  
>"I don't know." Again. Those words. It was infuriating.<br>It was like Mom could sense our frustration. In her healthy state, she would have muttered something like "_Tranquillizzavano, ragazzi,_" to us through the wall. But she wasn't healthy... so she hurtled herself at the wall closest to us. The crack of her body slamming into the dry-wall was bone shattering. She screeched at us as she heard us gasp and jump away from the wall even though it was too think for her to penetrate.  
>My heart was pounding and I was sure I was going to throw up. But eventually, I breathed deeply until I was so light headed that it was all I could think about, and then I spoke again, whispering, but my voice shook and cracked from my hysteria.<p>

"Well what the hell do you know, Pat?"

He span around and shot me a glare. I was sure that he was about to say he didn't know again, and I was ready to leap on him and punch him and tear his hair out if he did.  
>But he held his tongue.<br>But I think that scared me even more.  
>"Please?" I begged, whispering, but shaking all over. "Pat... what do we do?"<br>I watched as Patrick tried with everything he had not to cry. His expression crumpled and he took a moment to force it to relax, shaking his head as he spoke. "I... I don't know, Oliver."  
>But I wasn't angry anymore. I was terrified. Absolutely terrified. I'm not sure how it worked, but the terror was enough to switch me off. After enduring it for so long, I simply embraced it. Dealt with it. And I fell asleep as if the terror was a splinter that I had to put up with. I knew it was there, but I found a way to not think about it.<p>

_~ The Next Morning ~_

"Oliver."

It was early. Too early. And it was the summer semester. I didn't have to wake up until I had to. No. No. No. I didn't want to wake up. I would wake up when I heard the TV turn on in Patrick's room across the landing, and then I would roll out of my bed and amble into his to watch morning cartoons with him, and then Mom would call us for breakfast and then she would go get the newspaper from the porch and then she would drink her coffee in the kitchen while we ate our-  
>Shaking. Violent shaking. God, I thought I was in the middle of an earth quake.<br>I jolted awake, glaring as Patrick continued to shake my shoulders, and instinctively I threw my palm at his face, smacking him across the jaw to get him to stop.  
>"Ah-!"<br>But he leapt on me, silencing my shout as he smothered me with his hand over my mouth. Then it all rushed back to me, the adrenaline rushing through my thirteen-year-old body kicking my brain into gear and brutally reminding me of everything that had happened yesterday. I wasn't in my room. I wouldn't be watching morning cartoons with Patrick. Mom wouldn't come in to call us for breakfast or go and get the newspaper of drink her coffee...  
>I went limp, and Patrick let go of me, rolling to the side at settle his racing heart.<br>But then I heard someone outside of Patrick's bedroom.  
>"Mom got out?" I breathed with a mixture of awe and terror, unable to decide if that was good or not.<br>Patrick shook his head, "No."  
>There was pause as I waited for him to tell me something to settle my palpitating heart. But I knew what he was going to say. I knew that Dad had woken up... I knew that he wasn't our dad anymore.<br>"Why didn't you close the door?" I hissed.  
>"<em>Me!<em>" Patrick growled incredulously. "It's your room."  
>Dad ran at the door, hearing my outburst. We leapt away from it, heaving our breath and tears streaming down our faces.<br>I turned to my brother, grabbing his forearm in my frantic rush. "We have to put him in with Mom. They should stay together until we can get them help."  
>"No," he hissed.<br>"Why?"  
>"They don't wanna be together, stupid."<br>"What? Yes they do. Why would you say that?"  
>He shook his head, wiping his eyes. "Nothing. I mean, they're sick. How do we know that they wont try to hurt each other. Or us."<br>"Mom was slower than us."  
>"I know. I pushed her in there. Remember that?" he hissed.<br>"Yes," I spat. "So getting Dad in there wont be hard."  
>"Are you kidding. He'll tear us apart."<br>"Not if we're careful."  
>Patrick glared at me, by now I was getting used to the permanent expression on his face. "And how do we do that, Oliver?"<br>I looked around the room, "We'll wrap up. Make it harder for him to get to our skin. You've got coats in here, and gloved and baseball helmets and stuff."  
>Patrick didn't say anything, so I knew I was getting somewhere.<br>"You still got that canvas?"  
>Patrick nodded, "Grand Theft Auto one?" It was framed and so big that there was no room in Patrick's bedroom to hang it. He won it in an online tournament a few months before and was saving it for when he got his own house. Mom teased him saying that by that time he wouldn't even want it anymore. But there was no way she was letting him put it up somewhere else in the house.<br>"Yeah," I said, nodding and raising my brow expectantly.  
>Patrick's expression dropped, realising what I was implying. "No," he said sternly.<br>"How else are we getting out of here?"  
>"No. I'm not letting you use it to get him in there. No. It took me months to win all the tokens to get it. No. Screw that, I'm not giving it up. No... No, Oliver... No."<br>Dad growled from outside, hitting the door with a loud whack that shook us both to the core. Mom screeched from her bedroom too, hearing everything that was going on.  
>I was panting as I turned to my brother, gritting my teeth. "Change your mind or we die," I said bluntly, not exactly taking in the brutal truth of my words.<br>Patrick stared wide eyed at his door, swallowing before nodding in sudden willing defeat, letting a shaky "Okay," leave his open mouth.  
>"Okay, good," I said, "listen a minute." We stayed quiet for a moment. "Dad's only interested in us. Mom's been growling, too, but he isn't taking any notice of her. Maybe they'll only go after people who aren't sick."<br>Patrick carefully got up and walked across his room, peering out of his window. "I don't see any one outside," he mumbled, squinting as he stared down to our block.  
>I got up and looked too, letting a moment pass as we both ate up our neighbourhood with our eyes, taking in every detail with a vengeance.<br>Nothing seemed different, at first.  
>But something was different. The air was thick that day. It was summer, but even then their was something too heavy, too stuffy... like when someone doesn't open their bedroom window for weeks.<br>The street was too quiet. Too dead. As if everybody had just up and left in the night.  
>"There."<br>I jumped out of my skin at Patrick's sudden mutter, his voice so shrill that it sliced right through me. "God, Pat. You scared me," I gasped, clutching my chest.  
>"Look."<br>I followed his gaze to the street below. "What is it?"  
>"Look."<br>I squinted. What he was staring at was slightly concealed by the roof of next door's garage, so I leant over to get a better look. "It's just a dog," I sighed, tiredly sitting normally again and losing interest.  
>Patrick kept looking at it, then, after a few minutes, he shuddered and startled away from the window, his eyes wide and horrified. "No... no it's not."<br>I looked again. I saw the 'dog'. I saw it was stood up now. I saw it as it wondered onto our front yard. I saw it's torn, grey flesh hanging and peeling off of its shoulder and abdomen.  
>It wasn't a dog.<br>It was Tilly Ellsworth, a woman who lived three doors down with her three daughters.  
>I had much the same reaction as Patrick did when he realised what she was. Infected. But Tilly looked dead. But she was walking and growling and snarling... Just like Mom and Dad.<br>I was crying again.  
>Then another man ambled across the road, growling at something he must have heard. His leg was broken at an odd angle and his head hung to the side with a gaping hole in the side of it. Tendon and jugular exposed.<br>I threw up.  
>Luckily Patrick had anticipated my weak stomach, and was quick enough to grab his trash can and hold it in front of me. But I definitely wasn't feeling lucky. Depends on how you look at it I suppose.<br>He was preparing for what we needed to do. Grabbing thicker clothes and his framed picture and his baseball stuff. "Miss. Ellsworth and that man aren't attacking each other. Like I thought, they only care about uninfected people."  
>He grabbed his baseball bat.<br>"What're you doing with that?" I ordered quietly, wiping my mouth and grimacing.  
>Dad still heard, and slammed himself against the door. I just hoped that it would hold.<br>"What do you mean?" my brother frowned, gripping the wood in his hand.  
>I glared at him, "It's Mom and Dad... We don't hurt them."<br>He narrowed his eyes, "You think I'd hurt them? Idiot. I just thought it would be useful to use to push them back. If they came at us."  
>"We've got the picture."<br>"We can use this, too."  
>"If it's there we'll use it to hurt them without meaning to."<br>"Then it'll be in self defence."  
>I stood up and squared up to him, glaring. "We. Don't. Hurt them. No matter what."<br>Patrick knew I wouldn't relent. Not about this. He sighed and nodded, leaving the bat under his desk. Dad and Mom were still snarling from outside. But it was almost like we were getting used to it.  
>Adjusting.<br>We dressed into the spare set of thicker clothing. I was smaller than Patrick, and his shoes were a size too big. But I made do. And it was hot with all of the clothes on. If it wasn't our parent that killed us, it would have been heat stroke.  
>Patrick stood at the door, picture frame in hand, he looked at me through his helmet, looking like the worlds biggest idiot, and me too. "Ready?"<br>I was shaking and sweating. I was terrified and exhilarated. I was a mess. But I nodded. "Y-yeah."  
>He swung the door open, and as soon as he did Dad lunged into the room. But Patrick was fast, and with a loud grunt he shoved him back out, using the picture like one would use a shield, and we both froze as our father stumbled backwards on to his back on the landing, reaching up to us.<br>Patrick pushed me back into his room and closed the door behind us. Slammed it.  
>"Why'd you do that?!" I hissed. "We're supposed to be on the other side of the door!"<br>By now, Dad was on his feet again, angrier than ever.  
>"Sorry," Patrick heaved, "I panicked."<br>I glared and shook my head. "_Idiota!_"  
>Patrick was angry, more at himself than anything, but it didn't stop him from thumping me up side my head for insulting him.<br>"Ow!" I rubbed my temple, glaring but relenting. "Sorry."  
>"Alright, let's try again. You ready?" he asked me, his voice shaking and sweat running down his face.<br>I nodded.  
>For a second time that morning, Patrick's door swung open. But he was ready that time, and he pushed with everything he had to get dad to move towards Mom's bedroom, and when he was at the right angle, I helped to push, both of us grunting loudly as Dad fought against the canvas.<br>Our hallway was 'U' shaped. With the staircase in the middle leading directly into the kitchen downstairs. Mom and Dad's room was right at the end on the left side. My job was to slip past Dad to open the door. I was fast and small enough. But I knew that I would get stuck between Mom and Dad if I did it.  
>So again, I grabbed Patrick's arm and pulled him back into his room next door, slamming the door closed behind us just in time before Dad shoved himself against it.<br>"This isn't working!" Patrick shouted furiously.  
>All this messing up was almost comical, but neither of us were laughing.<br>"No, we almost had it," I reassured him, "I just need you to keep him against the banister or wall until I can open the door. Then I'll help you push him in. I couldn't open the door before or I would have gotten stuck between them."  
>"O-okay," Patrick was panting. I was too, and I had to quickly take a dose of my inhaler.<br>So we tried for a third time.  
>Patrick had Dad against the wall, our father shrieking and growling at us both horribly. But I slipped past, and shoved the bedroom door open. I could hear Mom hissing through the door, and like I had hoped, the speed at which I pushed her door open had caused her to fall backwards. "I'm sorry!" I apologised frantically to her, knowing that that must have hurt her like I wanted so much to avoid.<br>"Oliver!"  
>I shot to my brother to help him, grabbing the frame of the picture and pulling it away so that Dad would lunge. When he did, Patrick and I shoved the canvas back into him, pushing him into his bedroom. It was close. Too close. The picture was beginning to tear, but with moments to spare, with one last shove, Dad fell into his bedroom beside Mom and Patrick and I slammed the door closed.<br>I was heaving my breath, so overwhelmed with grief and relief and fear that I was sobbing and laughing and screaming all at once. Patrick was too, and he wrapped his arms around me, hugging me so tightly I was sure I would pass out from it all.  
>We went downstairs, not wanting to hear Mom and Dad's moans and shrieks anymore.<br>Patrick closed the door that was at the bottom of the stair case, as it lead directly to the kitchen, and when he did the noise of Mom and Dad became muffled... bearable.  
>He dropped the picture frame on the floor and took off all of his unneeded clothing, me doing the same. Leaving both of us in our pyjamas, soaked in sweat and tears. But we weren't scratched or bitten, and had only sustained a few bruises from our activities.<br>I was in a stupor, mentally paralysed by everything I had just had to do. I wanted to know if Mom and Dad would ever be okay again. If the Government were making some kind of cure that could save them and Tilly and the other man outside.  
>"Oliver."<br>I snapped out of my daze, still stood like a statue in the kitchen staring at the door that lead to the staircase. I looked at Patrick, swallowing the cat from my tongue, "S-sorry about your picture," I croaked.  
>Patrick started crying then, too. But I don't think it was about his canvas. He was just as overwhelmed at I was. I lead him into the dining room and sat him down on the table.<br>"Stay here," I told him quietly.  
>I went back into the kitchen, refusing to look at the door as I made Patrick and I some cereal. I wasn't hungry, but I needed to do something normal to take my mind off of everything.<br>The electricity was working still, because when I looked in the fridge the light was still on. So before I left the kitchen, bowls and spoons in hand, I grabbed the portable, hand-sized radio and carried it into the dining room as well.  
>"I thought we could try listening to the news? Or, I don't know, whatever might be out there to explain all of this," I said, placing his breakfast in front of him, then taking a seat where I always sat; oppose him with my back to the wall. I had my bowl in front of me, radio in hand.<br>I switched it on, tuning the dial for a voice. Until after a moment I realised that the voice was the same on every channel, relaying the same message over and over again, cutting off every few moments into static before returning.  
>It was an emergency broadcast.<p>

"_-and attacking the living. Follow instructions and precautioning as information becomes available. Do not attempt to approach or apprehend the infected as they are considered extremely dangerous. I repeat. City authorities have reported that the bodies of infected are rising from their graves and are attacking the living. Follow instructions and precautioning as information becomes available. Do not attempt to approach or apprehend the infected as they are considered extremely dangerous. This warning applies to all areas receiving this broadcast. Tune in to WTOP-FM to get updated information. In the event that you are separated from internalisation or if electrical services are interrupted, City authorities in your area have reported that bodies of the infected are rising from their graves and attacking the living."_

We froze. Terrified and unable to process it all. And it said that over and over and over again. Until I reached forward and shut it off, the sudden silence slicing through us so quickly that we both winced. But then we startled from the banging coming from upstairs as our parents growled for us.  
>I looked at Patrick, seeing his whole body shaking as the adrenaline swallowed up the both of us. "That wasn't what the broadcast was saying when I got home," I whispered. "It wasn't that bad. How can it get that bad that fast? How is this happening? This isn't happening!"<br>"Oliver. Shut up."  
>I snapped my mouth closed, contorting my face as I pulled my legs up on the chair and hugged them in my arms, riding through whatever turmoil it was that all of it was causing me.<br>Patrick stood up, in his rush knocking his bowl of cereal off of the table and I startled as it clattered to the wooden floor, spilling flakes and milk everywhere.  
>He ran into the living room, grabbing the remote and switching the TV on. I stayed where I was, staring at the mess as the same broadcast played on the Emergency Broadcast System. I could hear him growling as he switched channels, searching for one that wasn't playing the same thing. But it was all just EBS.<br>"It'll be okay," I croaked, stepping off of my stool and picking up the bowl and spoon, taking them in the kitchen and leaving them in the sink. "Mom and Dad will be okay. The Government will give us a cure, and... they'll be fine again."  
>Patrick was too quiet, and all I could hear was the quiet, authoritative voice of the broadcaster on a loop. I got a tea towel and mopped up the milk and cereal. I sighed, still only hearing the broadcast. So I cleaned up the tea towel and tip toed to the living room, edging my head through the archway to see him.<br>He was crying silently.  
>"Pat...?"<br>He gasped and quickly wiped his face, "W-what, Oliver?" he hiccuped.  
>My mouth tried to speak before my mind had decided what to say, so I sort of just mouthed at him for a moment, "Uh, th-they'll... M-Mom and Dad. They'll be alright."<br>He shook his head and turned away, "No. They wont," he sobbed.  
>I pushed myself off of the archway and sat on the opposite side of the couch from him, crossing my legs and staring at him with my eyebrows arched. "They will. It'll be okay. They said they'd give us more information as they learnt more about it. Mom and Dad, they're gonna be okay."<br>"No, they wont," Patrick retorted.  
>I sighed, figuring that he was just losing hope, "They will. We just have to keep them safe. But it'll be o-"<br>"Didn't you hear the broadcast?" Patrick interrupted me, glaring. "'Bodies of the infected are rising from their _graves_'... Don't you get it?"  
>I didn't say anything for a moment, I just shifted my gaze between his eyes, watching as tears rolled down my brother's face. "Mom and Dad are just sick," I said. "They just need help... medicine."<br>"No. They're. Dead!" Patrick spat. "That's how it works. That's what the broadcast said! You get infected. You die. Then you come back! MOM AND DAD ARE DEAD! THEY'RE DEAD, OLIVER! EVERYBODIE'S FUCKING DEAD!"  
>Adrenaline and anger drove my body. I leapt on him, throwing my fists at his face and pinning him to the couch. "THEY'RE SICK! THEY'RE JUST SICK! THEY'RE STILL MOM AND DAD! YOU'RE A LIAR!"<br>"THEY'RE DEAD!" he screamed at me, overpowering me and rolling over. We both fell to the floor with a loud thud, Mom and Dad's shrieking and banging coming from upstairs too. Only fuelling our rage. We fought for so long. Taking out all of our fear and dread and grief and rage on each other. But it was my asthma that finally stopped us.  
>I doubled over coughing up my lungs and spluttering for air. Patrick got off of me, panting and clutching his bruised shoulder, and even though he was angry, he was the one to grab an inhaler I had left on the coffee table and hand it to me.<br>I took my inhaler, struggling for a moment until my wind pipe relaxed and I could breath almost normally again.  
>Another bang from Mom and Dad, and both mine and Patrick's heads snapped up to them. We stared for a long time, until it was me who finally broke the quiet.<br>"You know," I said, slowly looking at my brother again and trying to smile, "that's the first time I've ever heard you cuss."  
>He glanced down at me for a moment to frown, before looking back to the ceiling.<br>I forced my smirk, determined to cheer him up even though my jaw and eyebrow were throbbing and bruising. "Potty mouth," I said almost apologetically.  
>Finally, in what felt like forever, my brother cracked a smile. It only lasted a moment before another tear rolled down his cheek and made the slither of happiness fade away again. But it was something. It was enough.<p>

**Notes**

Thanks for all of the support! It means the world that you liked my character enough to read this. THANKS!

The next chapter will be the night of Oliver's first kiss with Penelope :) hope you enjoy and I'll see you tomorrow :D

As always,

Happy reading xx :_)_


	4. His First Kiss

**inazumahunter **Yeah, poor Oliver x better stuff = a lovely, young, sheriff's son who has a thing for pudding and odd shoes in the future XD

_Around a year and a half before the apocalypse._

_Oliver is twelve years old._

_January time._

I took Penelope's hands, trying not to think about how itchy and uncomfortable my costume was, or how many people were staring at us and watching our performance.

_Don't stutter. Don't forget your lines. Don't make a fool of yourself._

"Your hand is like a holy place that my hand is unworthy to visit," I - Romeo said, staring at Penelope as she gazes in fake befuddlement at me. "If you're offended by the touch of my hand, my two lips are standing here like blushing pilgrims, ready to make things better with a kiss."

This ensued a light ripple of chuckles from the audience, which was only full with people who needed to be here like family members and teachers.

"Good Pilgrim," Penelope – Juliet, said, smiling warmly, "you don't give your hand enough credit. By holding my hand you show polite devotion. After all, pilgrims touch the hands of statues of saints. Holding one palm against another is like a kiss."

"Don't saints and pilgrims have lips too?" I said.

Penelope nodded, "Yes, pilgrim. They have lips that they're supposed to prey with."

_Don't mess up. Don't mess up. _

"Well then, saint," I said, "let lips do what hands do. I'm praying for you to kiss me. Please, grant my prayer so my faith doesn't turn to despair."

"Saints don't move, even when they grant prayers," Penelope said.

_Oh god. Oh god. Don't mess up. Just do it. Just do it. Don't mess up. _

"Then don't move while I act out my prayer."

So I leant in, my stomach flipping in my gut as I tried to ignore it. But it was too much, and I felt the bile rising in my throat.

Penelope gave me a strange look, asking me if I was alright without speaking as she tried to stay in character.

But I doubled over, throwing up... everywhere.

I froze, heaving my breath as I stared down at the vomit covering the wood-varnish stage and Penelope's shoes and dress.

"Ew!" an extra behind us screamed, as she and everyone else on stage scrambled to get away from me. People in the audience grimaced and held their hands to their mouths. Patrick was laughing hysterically, and even my mom and dad were so stunned that they were too speechless to tell him to stop.

I could hear Penelope in front of me as her breath hitched. I was distraught, and I was so afraid as I turned and looked at her, the screams and laughter beginning to catch on with everyone in the room like a contagious disease, making me want to die right there and then as what felt like everyone began to laugh at my expense.

I expected her roar. I expected her to scream at me and tell me she never wanted to speak to me again...

But Penelope didn't do any of that.

She stepped forward and took under my arm.

"I'm s-sorry," I blurted, on the verge of crying my eyes out, my face pale and my body jolting as I tried not to dry heave.

She hugged me, and I tried not to touch her because the vomit was on my hands too. "C'mon, Ollie. Let's get you to the nurses office."

Our Drama teacher, Mrs. Dallas stormed on to stage, grabbing at the curtain to close it. "You'll have to excuse us!" she called to the audience, who were all trying to stifle their laughter or moans of disgust. "We're experiencing a slight hiccup..."

"More like a slight throw up!" someone yelled from the audience. More laughter.

I wanted to die. God, I really did.

"Don't listen to them," Penelope said as she lead me down the steps and across the hallway into the drama classroom.

There were no teachers in there, as they were all out on stage panicking about what had just happened. Leaving only the kids who were getting ready to do their parts on stage, and all of whom had already heard what had happened as a few girls who were in the scene and saw everything were now screaming and laughing about it to them all. So as soon as we walked in we were greeted to a wave of horrible laughter that made me want to sink away into the floor and disappear.

"Oliver De Freak!"

"What the hell is wrong with you!"

"Faggot! Couldn't even kiss a girl!"

"That was hilarious!"

"You ruined the play!"

"Loser!"

"Queer!"

I was clutching my middle, my head and stomach pounding as I tried not to look at anyone, their insults punching me in the gut worse than throwing up had done.

"Leave him alone!" Penelope growled at them all. "It wasn't his fault."

Most of them did as they were told. Penelope was in the year above, even though she wasn't more than a few months older than most of them, but due to that, naturally, she had a type of automatic authority over them all.

But one boy, Mikey Blake, who I had had the displeasure of being in the same home-room and personal punching bag to that year strolled over to us. He was grinning as he pushed me into the table behind me, causing me to fall away from Penelope's grip and land in a heap on the floor against a table leg.

"Hey! What is your problem?" Penelope hissed at him.

"Faggot!" Mikey shouted at me, ignoring her.

Don't jump to conclusions though, he didn't know my sexual orientation, heck, not even I did back then. He was simply calling me that because he had heard his big brother say it a few times before and knew it was used to make someone feel bad. The douche bag didn't even know what the word was supposed to mean.

"Grow up!" Penelope seethed, stepping over to me to help me stand up again.

But Mikey pushed her away and then shoved me back onto the floor again before I could stand properly. "Why are you even friends with him?!" he spat at her.

Penelope narrowed her eyes, not dignifying his question with a response.

"He's a freak!" Mikey growled, then turned to me, satisfied that Penelope would stay where she was. "What is wrong with you, faggot? You were only suppose to be an understudy! You ruined everything! Go back to Italy, freak!"

I was born and had lived in America my whole life, and I had explained this on many occasions before to the douche bag. But I didn't have a death wish, so of course, I didn't say that."I'm... I didn't mean to. I'm sorr-"

But he shoved me again, harder, causing me to hit the back of my head against a shelf. "You're such a freak, De Luca - De Loser! Go die in a h-"

But Penelope didn't let him finish. She was almost half a year older than him. She was a lot taller than him. She was a lot stronger... and a lot angrier. So it only took one punch to his underdeveloped Adam's apple from her to get him to shut up.

"Make yourself useful and don't talk for a minute," she grumbled at him as he stumbled backwards, clutching his throat as he gagged for air. But he did as he was told and stayed quiet. Like a puppy with its tail between its legs. "Come on," she said to me sympathetically, helping me to stand.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled frantically, letting her lead me out of the classroom and leaving everyone in there, now trying not to laugh at Mikey as he struggled to catch his breath.

"I'm sorry," I muttered to Penelope again. "I'm sorry - your dress... and your shoes... and everyth-"

"Stop, Ollie." Then she was giggling. "That was the best fun I've had in ages."

I tried not to cringe as I dipped my head, ashamed and mortified as we got to the nurses office.

"Deary me, what happened to you both?" the old woman who everyone called 'Whitey' said, taking in our vomit covered state. I never knew what her real name was, but due to her silver hair that she always had up in a pristine bun, people called her Whitey, even the teachers.

"We had an accident," the Rostenkowski grimaced a smile. "Oliver yacked. He just needs some water and to clean up." Penelope knew about my pitiful stomach, this being the third time in my life that I had thrown up in front of her. Though, by far, this was the worst.

"Oh, dear," Whitey sighed, holding her arm out to me and leading me to sit on the bed. It was hard and had old, cracked, leather cushioning and was suppose to be like a bad version of a hospital bed.

My mom poked her head through the door. "Oliver, oh, I'm so sorry about the play," she consoled.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ruin it. They're all gonna kill me."

She shook her head and cupped my cheek. I could hear Patrick still laughing his head off outside as Dad growled at him to shut up. "Don't worry, they'll get over it," Mom told me, "I'll go get yours and Penelope's clothes."

I nodded, taking the drink that Whitey handed me.

"Thank you, Rosa," Penelope smiled, kicking off her soiled shoes into a plastic bag.

Mom left, and Whitey let me and Penelope undress and clean up in the changing rooms. Our drama teacher checked on us too, but she was still too concerned about the play being cancelled to do anything more than ask us if we needed anything, and when we said no she quickly scurried off to say goodbye to the audience and the others kids. Eventually, Mom brought back our clothes and we gratefully dressed into them.

I was still mortified.

We had already planned Penelope to sleep over mine that night, so that was the only thing that made me feel better as we drove home.

"I've never seen someone projectile yack like that," Patrick sneered.

I glared at him beside me, unable to help myself from thumping his ribs. "Shut up!" I growled, feeling my cheeks boil with embarrassment and anger.

"Boys, stop arguing," Mom said, then muttered something in Italian that made both Patrick and I shrink into our seats in defeat.

But even then I could see that she and Dad were holding in their amusement.

Penelope glanced at me, and in the anger of the moment I glared at her, thinking that the soft smile on her lips were to patronise me too. But I was wrong.

"You know, if anything I'd say you did the play a favour. It was going awfully anyway," she said.

A smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Penelope," I said quietly.

She rested her head on my shoulder and took my hand, letting me settle and relax as the car drove us all home. Mom smiled at me through the mirror, reassuring me, and then she turned to Dad.

"Have you started packing at all?" she asked him curiously, and I could only just hear her over the low rumbling of the car engine.

Dad glanced at her, forcing a smile. "Yeah, it's all in the back."

Mom furrowed her brow, "You're leaving tonight? I thought you were staying until Friday."

Dad shook his head, training his gaze back to focussing on the road, "No, they need me tomorrow."

"What, they can't wait two days?"

"Rosa."

"Don't _Rosa _me. _Questo è ridicolo. _You've been home two weeks. Now you're leaving again? For what? Three months?" she was trying not to raise her voice.

Dad took a moment to answer. "Four and a half."

Mom scoffed, turning away to glare out of the window. "This isn't fair... Not on me or the boys."

"Rosa, don't. Not with them around. Just..."

"When can we talk about this?" Mom asked dryly. "You're never home."

"Please," Dad whispered, not looking at her but the desperation in his voice was apparent.

"Okay... we'll talk when we get home," Mom said.

But Dad shook his head and sighed. "I have to leave as soon as we get back. I'm just dropping you all off and then I've got to get my flight."

Mom was devastated, her eyes widened and I saw even in the dim light as her cheeks flushed with anger. "Why did you wait this long to tell me?" she hissed, her eyes welling.

Penelope lifted her head from my shoulder, exchanging a worried glance with me and Patrick. Mom and Dad noticed and they both forced themselves to settle, nonchalantly clearing their throats of looking away out of the windows.

"I'm sorry," Dad said after a long moment. "I didn't want to cause trouble."

I could see the tears in Mom's eyes, but she wiped them as they fell and then mumbled at him in Italian something that I don't need to translate.

We got home a while later. All of us apart from Dad got out of the car and stood on the driveway. I wanted to smile or say something to cheer everyone up, but the mood was too dismal. Mom wasn't saying anything, and after a moment, she left to go inside without saying goodbye.

Dad watched after her for a moment, before sighing and dipping his head. But Patrick and I were still there, waiting to say goodbye to our father while Penelope patiently stood beside me, lugging her backpack and sleeping bag over her shoulder and shivering in the chilled evening weather. I could hear her teeth chattering as she wrapped her arms around her middle to stay warm.

Dad looked up to us and held his arm out of the window for us, the orange glow of the street lamp illuminating his black suit sleeve.

Patrick moved first, leaning into the car window to hug him, "Bye, Dad. Good luck with work."

"Bye, buddy. Work hard in school and keep your brother safe."

Patrick pulled away and we switched places.

"See you soon, Oliver," Dad mumbled as he wrapped his arms around me.

"Bye," I said into his shoulder.

"Don't worry too much about tonight. I'm sure it will blow over," he said as I pulled away.

I nodded and stepped back from the car, my breath making a steam cloud in front of my face.

"Tell your mother I'll Sykpe her tomorrow when I get off the plane," he said. "Nice to see you again, Penelope."

"You, too Mr. De Luca," she smiled politely.

"Alright," Dad said, looking at the three of us, "look after each other. Boys, be good to your mother... I'll talk to you soon."

We all knew he wouldn't. Even Penelope did. It was something he always promised to do. Over the two weeks he was back, he, Mom, Patrick and I had grown closer as a family, but we all knew that as soon as Dad left life would go on as normal and we would adjust to being without him. Like a distant friend.

He wheeled up his tinted window, then reversed out of the driveway, beeping twice before driving away and out of sight around the corner of the street.

Patrick and I kept staring at the place we saw the last red light of the car, almost willing him to come back. We wanted our father, their was no denying it. But we had to adjust. We had to move forward.

"Come on," my brother said, turning and walking back to the house.

I nodded glumly, glancing at Penelope. She pursed her lips and motioned her head to follow Patrick, so we went back inside.

We kicked off our shoes and hung up our coats, about to stroll upstairs to go into either mine or Patrick's bedroom to read comics or something. But we could hear Mom crying in her bedroom.

"Should I go see if she's okay?" I asked quietly, still shivering, but grateful for our warm house.

"No," Patrick muttered. "Just let her calm down a little. She needs her space."

I nodded.

"Um," Penelope murmured, trying to think of something to keep the momentum of our conversation from sinking any further that it already had. "We should make supper for her. Save her having to do it. We can make French bread or something... well, that'll have to be what we make, since you both can't cook and that's all I know how to make."

"Yeah," Patrick said, taking her opportunity to lift the mood. "I'm pretty good at making toast, too."

Penelope smirked, "We can't have toast for supper, Patrick."

"Then let's have French bread," I warned, "but I'm not touching the stove. I'll set the house on fire."

We did make supper. It was a little burnt on the outside and then the eggy bread was barely cooked on the inside, and as I said, I didn't touch the stove. Instead I just mixed the eggs while Patrick and Penelope did the hot stuff. But it turned out okay.

Mom didn't show up until we were serving, walking into the kitchin and faking the grin on her face. "Thank you," she said to us all gratefully. But I could see how much she was hurting.

Even as we had supper in the dining room, it felt heavy. The atmosphere. Like an elephant in the room. But we ate quickly and then Penelope, Patrick and I retreated to my room.

"Wanna watch a movie?" Penelope asked me and Patrick.

"Yeah," Patrick answered for the both of us, going into his room to get some movies. "We've got _Harry Potter _or _Shrek_."

"Which _Harry Potter_?" I asked.

"The fourth one, _Goblet of Fire_."

"We watched that one last week," Penelope said.

"Without me!" Patrick grumbled, staring at us in offence.

"Don't be a baby. We were at Penelope's, and it's not like you haven't already seen it," I said.

"Whatever," Patrick relented, "_Shrek _it is then."

So while Patrick set up the movie, I went and brushed my teeth. I couldn't taste any vomit anymore, but the memory was still fresh in my mind and haunting me. When I was done we watched the movie for a little while in my room. Since it was the cleaner out of the two options we had like always. Penelope sat on my bed and I leant against it on the floor with Patrick sprawled in front of me with his head rested on his hand. We could have sat on the bed with Penelope, but we simply got ourselves so comfortable that we couldn't be bothered to move.

It was about half way through before Patrick's head suddenly flopped forward. His hand was slowly getting limper and limper ever since about twenty minutes before, and had finally lost perchance on his cheek, causing him to smack his face into the blue carpet.

"Agh!" he groaned loudly, clutching his nose and forehead.

Penelope and I burst out laughing.

"Shut up!"

We didn't. Not for a good while at least.

"I'm going to bed," Patrick mumbled, chuckling too a little. "See you in the morning for school."

I cringed, the very thought of going back to school in twelve hours making my stomach churn.

"See you, Patrick," Penelope smiled.

"Night, Pat."

Penelope and I went back to watching the movie for a few minutes. Only interrupted when we heard Mom making her way up the stair case. She pushed the door open, smiling, but I could see her raw, red eyes from crying. "Good night you two. Penelope, do you need another blanket?"

She smiled and shook her head, "No thanks. I'll get one later if I do. Night, Rosa." Penelope and I were at each other's houses so often that we knew each other's home like the back of our hands.

"Alright, _bella bambina._" _Bella bambina_ was what my mom called Penelope sometimes. It meant 'beautiful little girl', and Penelope loved it when Mom said that.

She was about to turn and leave, smiling with that hurting smile of hers again.

"Mom?" I blurted.

"Hm?"

I wanted to tell her that Dad said he would Skype her, still sort of believing that he would. But I knew he would forget, and so I didn't tell her, changing my sentence before it left me. "Uh, good night. I'll say goodbye before we leave."

She smiled and nodded, dropping her gaze a moment before looking back to us both. "Alright, don't go to sleep to late. I'll see you both in the morning."

And so she left and went to her bedroom, letting Penelope and I go back to watching the rest of the movie. Though, it wasn't ten minutes later before I felt Penelope shifting her weight behind me. She climbed off the bed and sat beside me.

"Thought I'd join you," she said.

I glanced at her and gave her a short smile, then looked back to the TV screen, watching as Lord Farquaad tormented the Gingerbread Man after snapping his legs off, smirking to myself as the living biscuit begged for his limbs back.

But I could see out of the corner of my eye as Penelope kept looking at me. But I didn't think anything of it and kept watching the movie. So she patted my shoulder to get my attention, slightly impatiently tugging me to sit up.

"What?"

"I think you were really brave today, Ollie," she said matter-of-factly.

"Ugh, don't talk about that," I cringed, hiding my face and feeling my cheeks heat up again. "It was so awful."

Penelope took my hands and pulled them away from my face. Her expression was relaxed, her brow slightly furrowed.

"Penelope?" I said, "What's wrong?"

She shook her head and smiled. "Nothing. It's just... After everything. With Mikey being such an idiot and you putting up with it all. I just wanted to give you something. You know? 'Cause you deserve it... like a congratulatory endowment."

"Okay," I shrugged, "What did you get me?"

"Well... it's not like, uh, something I can hand over to you."

"What is it then?"

She raised her eyebrows and smiled. "A kiss," she said proudly.

For a moment I wondered if I had heard her right, for her words sort of sent me into a short catatonic stupor as I tried to replay her answer in my mind into something that made sense. "Really?" I asked in disbelief, for Penelope had never offered something like this before.

She nodded, raising her brow in that Curious Penelope way of hers.

"L-like, on the mouth?"

Again, she nodded. "Yeah."

I frowned, "But I yacked."

Penelope grimaced a chuckle, "You brushed."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. It'll be like a bonding experience for us," she said as if she was copying the phrase from something she had heard her mother say.

"What if I'm no good?"

"Who cares?" Penelope groaned, growing impatient.

I raised my brow, "I do."

"Well don't."

There was a short pause as I watched her, furrowing my brow a little less. Until I nodded a fraction, shifting my eyes between hers, "Okay?"

"Okay," Penelope repeated. "You ready?"

"I think so."

She placed a hand on either side of my shoulders, smiling reassuringly as if what we were about to do was as common occurrence as it was for us to read comics together.

"Okay," she said again.

Then she leant forward.

The kiss was fast. Over so quickly that I didn't even close my eyes like she did. Neither of us moved much. It was just simple, and when she pulled away from me we both sort of awkwardly watched each other for a moment.

Then I laughed. Cracking up and letting out a high pitched giggle that spread to her almost immediately, so that then we were both giggling away together like idiots.

"Was that a good enough _bonding experience_ for you?" I asked in jest.

Penelope nodded, unable to stop her giggling, "You did okay, Ollie."

I nodded, drew in a deep breath out of awkwardness and relief, and then we both turned to watch the rest of the movie.

**BZZZZ. BZZZZ. BZZZZ.**

I woke up the next morning to my morning alarm. Rolling over to grab my phone, but having to raise my hand at an odd angle because it wasn't where I thought it would have been. But I grabbed it, quickly shutting it off before it made my head explode.

I was still dressed in my normal clothes I realised, and I was still led on the floor, too. With a blanket over me and a pillow under my head. So I sat up, realising that the blanket was actually Penelope's sleeping bag, unzipped and covering me. Then my eyes fell upon the very Rostenkowski herself. Curled up in my bed, rubbing her eyes as she drew herself out of slumber, roused by the alarm too.

"Take my bed, by all means," I grumbled sarcastically, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

Her eyes flickered around the room, searching for her disturber and smiling when she saw me.

I was frowning at her. "Yeah, go ahead. It's not like it's my bed at all. No, not at all. Sleep in it all you want."

She chuckled, letting out a long yawn. "You fell asleep before the movie ended. I wasn't gonna wake you," she mumbled, her right leg popping out from under the covers as she stretched.

"Don't flatter yourself," I smirked. "I know you only didn't wake me on purpose just so that I wouldn't stop you taking my bed."

"Hey!" Penelope said, faking her offence. "I got a pillow for you and I even took off your socks."

I shuffled my feet, feeling skin where sock should have been and scoffing incredulously. "I like sleeping in socks."

She grinned. "I know. That's why I took them off."

I laughed, "Ugh, dork."

Penelope laughed, pushing her scruffy, red hair behind her ear.

I looked around my room.

"Where'd you put the movie?"

"Back in Patrick's room."

I raised my brow, "And he didn't wake up?"

She shook her head. "Nope. You both are really heavy sleepers."

My phone buzzed.

I grabbed it, rubbing my eyes. It was a text from Dad apologising for forgetting to Skype Mom. I guess he tried to apologise to her, but she didn't answer so he tried to get the message to her through me.

"What time is it?" Penelope asked, yawning again.

"Seven."

We dawdled out of bed, Penelope getting in the shower first while I woke Patrick and we made breakfast. Then, getting on with our morning preparations before school.

Before we left I went up stairs to Mom's room, knocking on the door.

No answer.

I pushed the wooden frame open, and peered inside. Mom was still asleep, curled up in bed. I walked up to her, "Mom?" I whispered.

She didn't stir. A heavy sleeper like her sons.

"Mom, we're leav-"

I stopped my sentence when I saw the dried make-up on her knuckles, realising that she had cried herself to sleep. My brow arched as I took her hand. I hated seeing Mom sad. It seemed she was always sad after Dad left for work... but it was like it was getting worse.

Her hand was cold and light and fragile. I sighed in sympathy for her, quickly lifting her hand to plant a kiss on it before placing it next to her face again. Then I went to her dresser and grabbed a paper and pen to write her a note.

_we left for school _

_you looked tired & I didnt want to wake you_

_see you later _

_oliver_

_ps please can you get me two more ventolin inhalers + some allergy tablets _

_thanks_

I left it on her mirror, using some blue tack to stick it there. Then I went to meet Penelope and Patrick and the three of us left for school.

**Notes**

Well, I hope that was awkward and strange and weird enough. How romantic, huh? Hahaha. Bless them. I am really enjoying writing about Oliver and Penelope's friendship. It's nice writing two people so close who have no sexual tension or real romance between them.

Uhhhhh! The grammar in that note though... uhhhh... damn you, 12-year-old Oliver De Luca! Learn to use commas, full stops, capitals and the occasional apostrophe! Damn, kid. Fuck. XD

God, I wish Oliver was mu little brother! I'm not kidding. I would be the best big sister to him!

Thanks for the people reading! Love you all!

Preview: Next time we will be catching up with Oliver and Patrick. It'll be a super short chapter, with a little brotherly love and some birthday celebrations :)

I'd adore it if you could show support by reviewing xxx

As always,

Happy reading xx :_) _


	5. Let's Say Grace

**Prettyprincess45 **Thank you xxx I hope you liked Penelope :) she's gonna play quite a large role in his past :)

_Around three month's after they left home. About seven months before they would lose each other in the store. About a year before Oliver would get to The Prison._

_Oliver is fourteen-years-old._

_Late September/Early October._

"Happy Birthday."

I was ill with a cold. I had been hibernating in bed all day. By 'hibernating' I mean 'coughing and sneezing while trying to get a few minutes shut eye and failing', and by 'in bed', I mean 'on the cold floor of a Laundry Place with a mouldy blanket as a mattress and another mouldy blanket wrapped around me'. It was doing nothing for my asthma and I was fairly sure that I was dying, but it was all we had.

I opened my eyes, murmuring for Patrick to leave me alone and wincing from my stuffy sinuses.

"I've been gone all day and you don't even have a 'hello' for me?" Patrick asked, clearly not willing to leave me alone and lacking in any brotherly graciousness for me.

"Hello," I grumbled.

"Dude, come on. It's gotta be around September 30th by now, right...? So, Happy Birthday, Oliver."

"I'm dying."

"Yeah, but you're not dead yet."

I sat up and glared at him, wiping my runny nose on the blanket. "What do you want - whoa, you got me something?" I perked up upon seeing the small brown package he was pretending to hide behind his back.

"Of course," Patrick smiled, pushing the oddly shaped present into my hand.

"What is it?"

"Open it, dude."

I did, with a vengeance, suddenly not feeling so much like I was dying as I tore into the packaging until it was shredded and lying in flaky pieces all around us. "You got me more inhalers. Thanks, and some cold medicine." I was grateful. Really, I was. But there was still something disappointing. Something that made me realise that my birthdays would never be like they used to be, with chocolate cake and useless presents and all of that. "Thanks, Pat. Means a lot."

Patrick scoffed. "That's not all I got you, idiot."

I frowned in confusion, then I looked back at the package, spotting something flat and colourful on the bottom... "No..." I gasped, clasping my hand to my mouth and speaking into my palm, "no way...! you found a comic?! Oh, man!" I dropped my hand and grinned madly at him. "But you said we shouldn't take anything we don't need anymore." God, I was so grateful I didn't know what to do with myself.

"I thought you'd get done reading it in a few days," he said, pushing his glasses further up his nose, "so by the time you're better we can just leave it here anyway."

"Thanks, man."

"I got more food, too. _Lots_. We can have something special tonight. A meal."

I snapped my head up to him. There was only one thing I liked more than comics back then. Food. What was more than that... a meal. "Really?"

Patrick grinned and nodded.

"Awesome!" I grinned, thumbing the smooth cover of the comic as if it were something that needed to be worshipped and protected. Then I relaxed my expression and pursed my lips.

That day was the first time Patrick had done a run without me. We both knew that I was too weak, evident that despite how worried for him I was I still managed to pass out again while he was gone. So I knew that he was having his own silent celebration. His success was sort of like a right of passage for him. A chance for him to prove to himself that he was capable to survive. Not that he ever expected to have to survive without me anyway...

"Nice work by the way. Thought you'd be biter bait for sure," I joked, earning a snicker from him and a modest smile. "Was there any trouble out there?"

He shrugged. "There were a few guard dogs in the drugs store. But I set up a fire outside and it drew them out. Quick and easy."

"Smart," I said, knowing really that there would have been a lot more adrenaline and fear involved. But I was still proud of him. "Thanks, Pat. Means a lot."

"So," he began, raising his brow, "how does it feel to be fourteen?"

I shrugged, sniffing. "Feels like I can't breathe through my nose."

Patrick laughed, then he got up and fetched me a bottle of water before bringing it over, "Here, take your medicine. It'll make you feel better."

"Thanks," I smiled a little, swallowing the tablets and then taking my inhaler to loosen my stupid wind pipe. Sometimes I really hated having asthma. Actually, all the time I really hated it.

"Read your comic and I'll start on making supper," my brother said.

I didn't hesitate. It was a Spiderman comic and I was engrossed in it as soon as I opened the first page. I was almost half way through by the time Patrick whistled to get my attention. It was beginning to get dark, and my eyes were straining to read anyway so it wasn't too torturous to put down the graphic novel.

The Laundry Place was boarded. But the place was clear when we broke in, and it had been our safe base for a few days. It was cosy and there were blankets and clothes everywhere, so it was a pretty nice deal compared to places we'd stayed before.

I got up to look for him in the isles. The isles were just rows of washing machines separating the large room into about five sections. Even so, I didn't have to look for my brother for very long.

Patrick was sat on top of a row of washing machines a few isles to my right, with a small bin in front of him up there with bright orange flames rising up in it as it heated the food he was cooking. He served up our meal into two bowls, motioning me over.

"We're using bowls?" I asked, wrapping the blanket I had around me for warmth.

Patrick nodded, focussing on serving. "Yeah, we've been eating out of cans since we left home. Thought we'd change that for your birthday."

It was true, the last time I had eaten from a plate or bowl was three months ago, but I hardly cared. It was food.

"Hand me that cardboard box?" he asked.

I grabbed it from the floor. It was empty. "What do you need it for?"

"It's our table."

I scoffed, "Our_table_?"

The washing machines, all rowed up like they were, were a wide enough surface for both of us to make a dining area on top of. So he set up the small cardboard box on the surface, sitting cross legged with the fire beside the 'table' for light.

I climbed up, keeping the blanket around me and sneezing twice in a row before I was able to speak agan. "Smells good. What is it?"

"Tonight... The canned macaroni and cheese you found under the cash machine, and some canned vegetables... Here you go," Patrick said, placing my bowl on the box and a fork beside it. It was pointless saying 'canned' before the name of the food, as everything we ate was canned, but it was force of habit I guess.

I was practically drooling. We hadn't found this much food in forever, living off of a can or jar of something between the both of us every day at the most for weeks, so I was all too eager to stuff my face until I blew up.

"Wait," Patrick said, grabbing my hand before I could raise the fork to my mouth.

"What?" I said, slightly fighting against him.

"Let's say grace."

I scoffed, pulling my hand out of his grasp and not even bothering to give him a verbal response.

"I'm serious," he insisted.

I dropped my hand, letting the fork clatter onto the bowl. "Why? We're not even religious."

"Manners?" Patrick seemed to ask.

"In case you hadn't noticed," I started sarcastically, "the end of the world isn't really the place for _manners, _Pat. And, look, we're already using forks, and real bowls... Isn't that enough?"

He shook his head, "It's what Mom would have wanted."

"Mom never forced her religion on us," _and Mom wouldn't have wanted us to leave her and Dad's living-corps in their bedroom either. _But I held my tongue, knowing that if I said that then Patrick would never forgive me. Even if I didn't actually blame him for what happened with our parents... He still blamed himself.

I rolled my eyes in silent relent, then crossed my arms, resting my elbows on the cardboard box table.

Patrick reached forward, taking my fork from my bowl and placing it beside it neatly. Then he took my hands and tugged me to sit up properly.

"Hey!" I growled.

"Do it properly."

"Fine!" I hissed, linking my hands with his and letting them rest on either side of the cardboard box.

Patrick closed his eyes.

I cocked my eyebrow at him.

"Oliver, I know you're still looking at me."

"God damn," I huffed incredulously under my breath.

"That's not the point of saying grace, dude."

I sneered, "That's funny."

"There's no time for funny anymore," Patrick tried to be wise.

"There's no time for saying grace, either."

"Shut your trap and close your eyes!"

I frowned at him, wondering how he knew that I hadn't yet. But I sighed and did as I was told, not even trying to stop the snide, "This is stupid," from leaving my mouth.

"Then I'll do it," Patrick said quietly, his voice gentle and encouraging for a reason I couldn't figure out. "You just sit still and stay quiet for a minute."

I couldn't take it seriously.

"Dear Lord," Patrick started. "Th-"

"_Dear Lord_," I couldn't resist but mock him.

"Shut up!" he hissed, jolting my arms.

"Ouch! Alright, alright... sorry."

Patrick took a breath.

I thought about how hungry I was.

"Dear Lord. Thank you for the meal we have before us. Um, please keep watching over us...? Uh, um."

I was frowning then, suddenly angry, feeling a horrible resentment burrowing deep into my chest like fire. Patrick's hands went loose around mine, so I let go and opened my eyes, almost feeling dizzy from the resentment punching me in the gut. I saw him, and he looked just as disgruntled as I was.

"You're right," he said to me under his breath, looking away as his cheeks heated up in anger and embarrassment, "this is stupid."

So we ate our meal without another word.

The truth was. It wasn't God who got us our meal that night. It was us; Patrick and I, looting corner stores like beggars. And it wasn't The Lord keeping watch over us. It was us. Hiding like rats and killing the dead in a world that He was said to have created with the love and passion He had for us. But it was just us. Two orphan brothers in the middle of the apocalypse. Scared of the whole world and willing to do almost anything to survive it. For what? So that we can eat a can of something disgusting every night, if we're lucky, and then thank someone for it who had no part in it what so ever?

So we finished our meal. Then we found a corner of the room that was the driest and piled blankets and duvets there. Patrick exhausted and me aching and ill, the both of us curled up in our cocoon of blankets, wrapping as much of the thick, warm fabric as we could around ourselves until we were comfy enough. It was probably the cosiest 'bed' I had been in since home.

"Night, Pat," I mumbled as I began to drift off.

"Night," he said, waiting a moment. "Happy birthday, Oliver."

Then the darkness closed in.

**Notes**

I thought it would be unrealistic for Oliver not to have been ill for the whole of The Apocalypse :) he's not invincible. He gets colds like the next person.

Hope ya'll enjoyed! Please leave a little review on your way out to tell me of your thoughts :)

Favourite part(s)?  
>Worst part(s)?<br>Helpful criticism is truly appreciated :D

**Preview:We will be back at The Prison with Oliver and Carl. Did anyone else wonder how they built that swingy-wheel thing that Carol used when she unclogged the water pump in season 4? Well, I guess it's the back story behind it. Some cute moments between Carl and Oliver, too. X)**

As always,  
>Happy reading xx :<em>)<em>


	6. Boys Will Be Boys

**inazumahunter** Yeah, lovely Patrick. I wish he had lived longer. He was such an adorable character.

_About a month and a bit before The Attack. Oliver has been at The Prison for a month and a half._

_Oliver is fifteen-years-old._

_Mid-November (About two weeks before the Rainbow Mika chapter)_

"Alright," Carol said as she began gathering up pistols and rifles from all of us. "We'll finish brushing up on a few things tomorrow."

I snapped all of the compartments of my rifle shut and handed it over to her.

"Thank you," she said. "You're really coming a long with it, Oliver. Well done."

"Thanks," I said, trying not to think of how useless I would be in actually using the thing.

Patrick was having trouble reassembling his pistol, so Carol gave him a few more minutes while she went and got everyone else's weapons.

"Pat."

He shot his glance up to me, "What?"

"You haven't turned the safety on."

"So what, there's no ammo in here anyway," he frowned, using the excuse instead of just admitting that he hadn't realised.

"Good thing too because you're pointing it at your face. If there was ammo in it you'd blow your brains out."

He growled his sigh, relenting and handing the weapon over to me, "You just do it then."

I took the weapon, assembling it and taking him through the steps on how I was doing it, and he did well not to show how emasculated he really felt, and I made an effort not to be patronising even though I wanted to be.

He took the gun back to Carol and she dismissed the class.

"Oh, boys?"

Patrick and I turned around to her.

"The waters been running dry since yesterday evening. I think there's a clog in the filter again." Apparently this had happened a few months before I arrived, too. "Would you mind helping me and Rick out with it?"

"Yeah sure," Patrick said.

"What do you need us to do?" I added.

Carol hesitated. "Well, we kinda need a distraction. For the walkers..."

I couldn't help it as I tensed slightly. "You want us for bait?" I tried not to sound terrified, and I knew that Patrick was smirking at me like a douche.

"No," Carol blurted. "No, nothing like that. I mean, you will kind of. But you'll be behind the fence. We just need you you to keep the walkers interested while Rick and I go and unclog the filter."

I relaxed. Only slightly. But it was as good as an acceptance.

"You don't have to," Carol said.

"No, we'd be happy to," Patrick spoke before I could, giving me a slightly pressurising glance, "won't we, Oliver?"

I swallowed and looked back to Carol, "Yeah. Happy to."

Carol smiled gratefully, "You ready to go now?"

I was about to ask for a few minutes to get my things, kind of hoping that I could stall and use the time to try to convince Patrick not to do it. But my brother, knowing me so damn well, cut me off before I even opened my mouth.

"Yeah, we're ready."

Carol lead the way out of the main building and across the outdoor cafeteria, walking far enough ahead for me to mutter my reluctance to him without her hearing.

"What're you doing?" I ordered.

"Stop being such a baby, dude," he grumbled, "I've done this before with Beth. We'll be behind the fences the whole time. Safe. I swear."

"I'm not being a baby. I just don't want a repeat of before. Another 5 months alone doesn't really sound appealing to me."

Patrick dipped his head, and I knew that I had crossed a line.

"Sorry. I mean, I just..."

"I know, dude," Patrick forced his smile. "I get it."

I felt bad, but I knew I was lucky that he had let my comment go so quickly, so I kept my mouth shut, taking a deep breath as we headed down the driveway, the tiny pebbles cracking under my sneakers.

"Look," Patrick said after a moment, "the fences are strong, and tall. It's not like out there. We're safe in here now. And we will be for a long time. Also, I know Carol, and Rick. They would never do anything to put us in any real danger."

Patrick had been at The Prison for five months longer than I had. He knew everyone here a lot better than me. So it did put my mind at ease.

"You ready, Rick?" Carol called across the front yard.

I looked over to the garden, spotting the man emerge from Flame's shelter, brushing bits of hay off of his jeans. "Yeah, we'll be right out," he told us.

I noticed that the horse wasn't in the pen like she was the day before, I was about to look to Carol and ask where Flame was, but I double took at the paddock when Carl walked out behind his father, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

Butterflies again. Like usual.

I looked away and continued following Carol and Patrick.

"Looks like Carl's helping, too," my brother said. I could see him grinning at me with an alarmingly knowing look on his spectacled face. "Does that change your mind?"

I shot him a glare, "What? Why would it?" I tried to be nonchalant, ignoring the sudden lurch in my gut.

He shrugged, the corners of his mouth curving downward to pretend he didn't know why he said that, then he kept walking. I kept staring at him, but a moment passed and I shook off the short adrenaline rush that his comment had given me.

We got to the fences, the clean up crew were already going at the walkers, impaling their skulls in repetitive concession, over and over again. We walked past them, until we got to the fence opposite the stream on the West side of The Prison. The sun shone down on the water, making the slightly brownish water sparkle as it rippled in the breeze.

Carol stopped by the part of the fence that had previously been cut open, now just a red wire used to hold it together. But it had stayed secure for this long.

"They took out thirteen clusters yesterday," Carol told us, "so there aren't a lot of walkers around. But if you do see any, Rick and I will need you to wave your arms around and shout for them. Don't touch the fence, just, you know, get close enough to attract their attention."

We nodded. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Carl's gonna help, too. He's done this before."

Rick and Carl made their way over. "You ready to do this?" Rick asked us all.

Patrick and I nodded, "Yes, Sir."

"Alright, we'll be out there for only a few minutes. Keep 'em occupied. Any that get too close to us, we'll deal with."

"Well," Carl spoke next, "should one of us have a gun. Back up if you get caught out?"

"No," Rick said, frowning a little more than I think he meant to. "We'll be fine. Just keep 'em occupied."

Carl shrunk slightly, nodding, "Okay. Sorry."

I glanced at Carol who was watching Rick with a look that made me think she was actually agreeing with Carl, but she kept her mouth closed, knowing that Rick wouldn't relent as he had a strict rule that no kids, Carl especially, would touch a weapon until they were old enough. I didn't know what Rick would do if he ever found out about Story Time.

With a nod exchange between the man and Carol, they unlinked the fence and closed it behind them, machete's drawn as they made their way to the river.

Carl was pacing the fence, watching closely over his father and friend. Patrick and I mimicked him.

Over by the river, Rick and Carol had arrived and the Peletier was crouched down on the bridge, fiddling with the hose that she had pulled from the water as Rick stood close by, keeping watch and glancing to the three of us occasionally to make sure we were alright.

"How was Story Time?" Carl asked, more to break the quiet than anything.

"Good. We finished _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland _today," I said, it was true, in the few minutes that Ryan, Mika and Lizzie's father, was lingering around, like he sometimes does, Carol had finished the story. Some days we really do just read, but it's mostly so that people don't get suspicious that it is taking us weeks to finish one book.

But it seemed that Carl was more intuitive than I thought. "Didn't you guys start it over a month ago?"

"Y-yeah... but, uh," I stumbled over my sentence.

"We did," Patrick came in to save me, "but someone had put the book back in the wrong place so we couldn't find it for a while. So we got on with doing some school stuff, but a few days ago we found it and kept reading again."

Carl nodded, honestly I don't think he even cared, then he returned his attention back to his father and Carol.

"Where's Flame?" I asked after a moment, remembering that the mare wasn't in her paddock.

Carl glanced at me, "Out with Michonne. She left this morning – said she'd bring us back some comics."

I grinned, turning to watch over Rick and Carol again.

All the way back when Michonne and Daryl found me on their run, and I had eventually learnt that the two were searching for a man known as The Governor. But shortly before finding me, the two concluded that his trail went cold and were on their journey home when they ran into me at the candy store. Daryl didn't go out again to look for him after that, and even though Michonne said her solitary runs are to look for supplies further away, we all know that she hasn't given up her search.

"How long is she gonna be gone this time?" I asked, glancing at Carl. "I thought she'd only been home a few weeks." Michonne had left for a run about three days after I arrived here and only returned two weeks ago after being gone for almost a month.

"Probably another month or so," Carl said. "But she'll be back... she always is."

She did come back. A month later the same day that my brother died.

"Walkers," Patrick blurted suddenly, spotting two a little way away as they ambled along the fence line our way.

I started clapping. "Here!" I yelled at them, jogging over to them with Carl and Patrick as they did the same.

The walkers growled at us, reaching through the fence with creaking fingers. It was working, and they were too distracted by the three of us flailing our arms around to notice Carol and Rick, and in a few minutes, the two were finished and jogging back over to us, quickly dispatching the two walkers without incident and then retreating through the fence again.

"Water should be working now," Rick said as he tied up the fence, a stray walker slamming itself against the mesh as he clipped it secure just in time.

"How long do you think it'll stay clear for?" Carl asked his father as the five of us headed back towards the car park.

Rick glanced at Carol for her input, assuming she would know more on the subject for how resourceful she was.

"'Bout a month. Hopefully," Carol answered. "It's simple to clear it, it's just getting' out there that's dangerous. You kids aren't always gonna be available to use as walker bait."

I smirked at her.

"Well, I could build something," Carl offered. "Like something that'll make a noise if you have to go out alone."

Carol smiled, "If you can. Go ahead."

"Can I use the scrap over by A-Block?"

Carol nods.

"Karen, Ty and Glenn are over there," Rick told him, "you can ask one of 'em to help you carry what you need."

Carl's expression tensed slightly in defence, "I'll manage."

Rick held his son's glare for a moment, until he nodded just as we all got to the car park.

"Wanna give me a hand with breakfast?" Carol asked me and Patrick.

We nodded, Patrick adding a polite, "Yes, Ma'am."

We headed to the kitchen, as Rick headed back to C-Block to tend to his daughter and Carl headed over to A-Block.

At breakfast, usually Carol only needed one other person to help her, and today it was Patrick's turn. But like usual I helped out for the sake of it as he usually did for me. Only, that day I kind of had other plans in mind.

"Ma'am?" I said after a moment.

"Hm?" Carol glanced at me as she opened the barbecue.

"May I be excused?" I asked. "I was wondering if I could go give Carl a hand."

Carol nodded and shrugged a little, "Yeah. We don't need another hand for breakfast. I'll need you for supper though," she granted kindly.

"Yes, Ma'am, thanks," I said gratefully, glancing at Patrick to silently ask him if he minded me leaving.

He didn't bat an eyelid. Patrick never was one for DIY, neither was I, but I figured Carl could use a hand, and it was something to do other than washing dishes and serving squirrel.

"Okay, I'll see you later for supper," I said.

"Alright, sweetie."

"Later, dude," Patrick said, then turned to Carol. "I'm gonna go get the squirrel."

"Okay, Daryl left 'em in the cafeteria in the cool room," Carol said.

With that, I turned on my heel and headed over to A-Block.

Carl was rummaging through the neglected scrap metal that had been left against the wall. It had been left there for lack of a better place to put trash we didn't know what to do with. There was odd stuff like, desks and tables and bicycles and other random house objects that had found around The Prison. It was out of the way and was here if anything needed replacing or reusing, which made it perfect for what Carl needed.

"Hey," I said to him. "Thought you could use a hand in making this thing."

Carl glanced at me, a brief exchange of eye contact taking place as he thumbed at a cracked light bulb in his hand. "Did Dad send you to help me _carry _it all?" he asked finally.

"No," I shook my head, "I wanted to help out."

"Do you know anything about this kind stuff?"

"Well," I shrugged slightly, "not really."

His brow flickered, and I couldn't tell if it was in annoyance or amusement. Maybe both.

"Look, you either take my help or I can just go."

Carl didn't budge.

Over the month I had known Carl, forming a close friendship that both of us were aware of but never spoke about or outwardly appreciated towards each other, I had learnt how to get through to the stubborn teenager. My method didn't work all the time. But I had a knack of being so sarcastic and subtly persistent in such a way that it usually worked on him to get what I wanted. Sneaky, I know. But it was part of being his best friend that I found most fun.

"And you'll be alone," I went on, making it obvious that he was stuck with me whether he liked it or not. "With no one to tell you how _great you are at building _and how _skilled you are _and how _I can only hope that one day I can be as cool as you are_," I began to beg, pretending to be desperate by putting my palms together and bouncing on the spot,_ "__Please? Oh, please, Carl? Please?!_"

That earned me a grin. A wide one. He didn't mean to let it suddenly burst over his expression, but it did and I took it as a success.

I straightened my expression and posture, tilting my head. "So, do you want my help or not?"

He let out a giggle and shook his head in relent, "Yeah, look for a few metal rods. 'Bout this long," he said, raising his hands to show about a two meters length between his palms. "But, you don't have to say all of that stuff."

"I wont," I chuckled, beginning to search for what he wanted. "I can't think of any more compliments to give you anyway," I mocked him, though, that one was a slight lie.

He shook his head, not granting my jestful insult a reply.

We collected what Carl said he needed. Me with the metal rods and a ball of twine and a few odd metal objects, and Carl with a long, wooden crate and about four mismatched bicycle wheels, one tyre that he detached from an old, cut-in-half bike that's other end was used for a manual motor over by the water pump.

We headed down to the garden, intending to assemble the contraption there, but Carl figured that we were both going to get burnt if we sat in the sun for too long, as he knew that making this thing would take a while.

"What about the Flame's shelter?" I suggested.

Carl cocked his eyebrow, "If you wanna sit in horse crap, go ahead."

"Erm," I grimaced, "uh, I'm good."

He shrugged, "It's not that gross. Better than walker guts."

"Have you ever been covered in walker guts?" I asked.

Carl shook his head.

"Well I have," I said, still grimacing, now more at the memory that the manure, "it wasn't nice."

Carl did well to subdue his grin, then pointed over to the overturned bus. "We'll do it over there," he said. "We'll have shade and a flat enough surface to work on. Can you grab the tool box."

I nodded, "Where is it?"

"By the fence."

I grabbed it, reading the small, white writing on the side of the previous owner's name. "Who's, _Dale Horvath_?" I asked.

Carl almost winced at the name, freezing in place for less than a second before shaking his head and shrugging as nonchalantly as he could. "Dunno."

I didn't have any reason to question him, so I started walking in the direction of the bus, carrying the tool box under my right hand, failing to notice the guilt punching my best friend in the gut behind my back. But Carl did his best to ignore it, and so we headed over, taking refuge in the shadow of the overturned bus.

Carl placed the crate on its side to act like a sort of tall table. Then took a metal rod and placed it on the floor.

"Hold it still a sec?" he asked me.

I did as he said, crouching down to grip either end of the pole as he took a hammer and nail from the tool box and lined the nail about two thirds the way up the metal.

It was only then that we realised that our faces were only a few cementers apart from each other, as I could feel the warmth of his cheek and the tickling of his long hair as it grazed over my temple, and at the same time we both leant back slightly to be at a more socially acceptable distance, awkwardly pretending that neither of us were experiencing convulsive butterflies at that moment from being so brilliantly close to each other.

But we ignored it.

We ignored everything about it.

Carl prepared the hammer and nail, poising the hammer as the pin of the nail rested in the centre of the pole, and then the hammer came down on it, gently at first, coaxing the thin metal into its place, then once it was he hammered with more force, until the nail had impaled it all the way through.

"What is it for?" I asked as he used the cloved end of the hammer to pry the nail back out.

"I'm just using the nail to poke three holes through each of the rods, then we'll tie them to the top of the crate and attach the wheels and tins to the ends to make noise."

I nodded, watching as he hammered another two holes on each end of the rod, then when he was finished I grabbed another and placed it on the floor. Carl hammered the nail through it a third the way up and then another two holes on each end, and we repeated the process again after that with the third rod.

By this time both of us were sweating despite the shade. Georgian weather was ridiculously hot, even in the fall when the weather would be turning by then in Virginia.

I had never thought about how someone could be attractive when perspiring, but I found myself unintentionally glancing at Carl every few moments, my subconsciously blowing pupils catching beads of sweat rolling down his forehead to his jaw, and then trickling down his neck and soaking into his flannel shirt collar. His skin seemed to sparkle from the moist. Locks of his fringe were beginning to stick to his forehead and cheeks in clumps, and he had sweat patches on his shirt over his back and chest that somehow still looked like they were supposed to be there in a naturally mesmeric way that only Carl seemed to be able to pull off and make so damned captivating.

Call me hormone raged, but it was _hot_.

Really hot.

He hit the nail, but in my unfocussed state the rod thin metal out of my grasp. I fumbled. "Sorry."

His eyes almost caught mine, but I looked away and rushed to retrieve the rod like an idiot, as it had managed to roll a little way away. But I could see in my peripheral vision as Carl kept looking at me, so I dared to glance back to him for a moment, thinking maybe he wanted something, only for him to suddenly avert his eyes too.

"Here," I mumbled, pressing the rod to the floor and gestured for him to try again.

"Thanks," he said, clearing his throat awkwardly.

"Do, uh, do you want me to get the wheels?" I asked once the rods were finished with three holes in each.

Carl nodded, and I figured that his cheeks were only darkening because of the hot day.

We used the twine to tie the wheels on either end of the rods, using a larger, heavier one on one end and a smaller, lighter one on the other. Carl said that this would make the contraption move, telling me that the uneven weight would keep it swaying for a little while like a live load, or some phrase like that at least.

I was sceptical. But I helped him slot the rods in as he threaded the twine through the hole he had punctured earlier a third the way up, and then tied the rod there so that it would stay. Then we did the same for the other three, attaching the final touches by tying crap metal and tin cans to the wheels to make the noise.

I stepped back to view our handiwork, folding my arms over my stomach as Carl pulled back the wheels and held them there.

"God, I hope this works," he muttered under his breath.

He exchanged a glance with me, and then let go of the rods.

They sprang into action, clanging and jangling and swaying in a constant rhythm. A sudden rush of proudness rolled through me, glad that we had made it work and impressed that Carl was lateral and practical enough to think of it.

"Brain box," I mocked. Of course I wasn't going to tell him what I really thought.

But I guess he knew already, because he grinned, proud of our work too. After a moment of silent congratulations to each other, the contraption began to slow, until it eventually stopped moving all together.

"How are we gonna make it so that it keeps moving?" I asked, knowing that the walkers would lose interest if it stopped.

Carl thought for a moment. "If we put it close enough to the fence – so that the walkers can nudge it with the ends of their fingers, it should keep moving."

"Shall we do that now?" I asked, gesturing towards the fence and whiping my brow of the sweat accumulating there.

"I'm not sure we're suppose to get that close without someone with us."

I glanced over to where we would set it up opposite the stream, seeing a few Fence Cleaners going about their job along the metal mesh. "The Fence cleaners are there. They'll be like supervisors. And it'll only take us a minute. We just have to put it over there."

This tempted Carl, knowing that we were both fully capable of doing this without trouble. But his respect for his father's wishes, however overprotective they were, won the conflict in his mind and he shook his head. "I don't think we should."

I relented, respecting his wishes as well. "Okay. You should go tell Carol we're done. She's probably in C-Block by now."

"Yeah," Carl agreed, leading the way back towards the main building as I trudged slightly behind.

"I'm gonna head over to D-Block to shower, see you later?"

"Yep. I'll probably head over straight after I'm done talking to Carol."

"Okay," I said, veering off to my block as we got through the driveway gates. "Pat should be in there. If not just grab a comic or something."

Carl nodded, giving me a short and small smile before turning to go to C-Block.

"Oh!" I remembered something.

Carl turned and walked backwards to address me. "Hm?"

"Remember to tell Carol about putting the crate close enough to the fence when she uses it!" I called across the yard.

"I will!" he said back, turning and disappearing into C-Block.

**Notes**

Not really sure what kind of significance this chapter had... except maybe showing how, in my story at lease, that swaying distraction contraption was made that Carol used in Season 4 Episode 3 Isolation. And maybe it was nice to see some more Carl x Oliver stuff.

Also, I missed Dale after watching his death the other day, and so I brought his tool box back :D

I think that every four or so chapters will be a Carl x Oliver chapter. I mean, there are two and a half months worth of stories that they had together :)

Hope ya'll enjoyed! Please leave a little comment on your way out to tell me of your thoughts :)

**Preview:** **We'll be going back to another adventure with Penelope.**

As always,  
>Happy reading xx :<em>)<em>


	7. Puppy Love

**inazumahunter **Yeah, I love writing them too :) x

_Around 5 months before The Outbreak_

_Oliver is thirteen-yeas-old_

_Late February time_

_**BZZZ. BZZZ.**_

My phone buzzed and I fished it out of my pocket. Trying to double task as I lugged the laundry into the washing machine.

It was Penelope.

_Penelope: _

_Come over! QUICK! EMERGENCY!_

_Me:_

_whats wrong im doing chores_

It was a weekend, so like usual I was spending the majority of it doing chores while Mom slaved away up in the office grading her class' Geography papers, and Patrick slumped in the living room, supposedly sorting the dry laundry, but I knew he was really just watching TV.

I hardly had time to pour the powder into the machine and turn it on before my phone buzzed again.

_Penelope: _

_There's a monster trying to eat me! Come quick! Take The Creek to get here and I'll meet you half way. Also, text properly!_

I scoffed, typing away and grinning like an idiot into my phone, making an effort to use appropriate writing literature this time.

_Me:_

_A monster? Save your family! I'll bring the katana. (Better?)_

With the washing machine whirring away, I span on my heel and ran into the hallway. "I'm going to Penelope's!" I announced to Mom up the stair case.

"Okay!" she called. "Remember your inhaler!"

"Got it! Can I take the walking stick?" The walking stick would be my katana.

"Why do you need the walking stick?" Mom asked.

"Uh, to... walk?"

"It's not a toy, Oliver," Mom said, leaving the office and stepping into my view as she leant over the banister, sticking her foot out and tapping it accusingly on the edge. It was a warm day, so Mom was wearing a summer dress with floral patterns on it, and she didn't have any shoes on so the tattoo on her ankle of an eagle stood out, looking as though it was alive and ready to fly right off of her skin.

I sighed and rolled my eyes, "I know. But I need it to defeat the mons-" Then I remembered that I was thirteen and was supposed to be acting like it, "uh, never mind. I'll see you later."

She smirked, watching me as I put on my jacket and shoes, "_Ci vediamo più tardi, il miele._"

I smiled and nodded, then shot out of the door, closing it behind me and tearing down the driveway to the street, then crossing it to the opposite side and rushing into the footpath beside my opposite neighbours driveway. It led to a bridge that travelled over a disused train track that was now just another foot path, so I rounded it and followed that footpath towards the river.

I began wheezing slightly, so I slowed to a walk just as a bike rider came into my view, pursing my lips into as friendly a smile as I could as the curly haired woman rode past me, taking the opportunity to quickly take a puff of my inhaler.

When the coast was clear, I broke into a run again, veering off of the track and pushing through the hedge row a few minutes later to wander down to the path that was made by wildlife. It was rarely used by people because most didn't notice it, as it was hard to find if you weren't really searching. The only reason Penelope and I had found it was word of mouth, hearing stories from a few people and so searching for it ourselves.

The path ran right along the river edge to a place I knew as The Creek, this was where Penelope said she would meet me half way, as it was a regular place for us to hang out. But I supposed with all of the running I was doing, she would have been a little behind.

So I went to my favourite place on The Creek. There was a fallen tree trunk that hung dangerously across the river. So I climbed up onto it and took a seat. It had been there since forever, so I confidently edged my way along it until I was directly in the middle of the calm stream, suspended a few meters above it with my legs dangling either side of the trunk.

This place reminded me of _The Bridge to Terabithia, _it had the stream and the tree and the exclusiveness. It was nice there.

I took out my phone.

_Me:_

_I'm at The Creek, waiting on The Hanging Tree. Has the monster stopped eating you yet?_

The tree had gotten its name from an old myth that Patrick or someone had told me a long time ago. Legend has it that a mad man hung his three children from it, letting them hang to death over the water. Then, he placed a stone over his chest and drowned himself under the current, and whoever dares to swim in the river will be cursed for the rest of their lives. Or something like that. It wasn't true of course. People, me included, had been swimming in the river (that also ran all the way through town) since forever.

My phone buzzed.

_Penelope: _

_Reports are inconclusive. Precaution is advised for when you meet the beast. Though it seems tame... but we can't be sure. Furthermore, I personally praise you for your efforts in using proper literature. _

I giggled at my phone, "You dork," I muttered under my breath.

English Literature was Penelope's favourite class, she always got A's and she wrote her own fiction stories whenever she could, which was pretty much every second of her spare time. I had read some, and I thought they were great. I always believed she's grow up to be a famous author when she grew up. But anyway, because of this she was always very persistent that I texted her properly, sometimes I would do it badly just to annoy her.

_Me:_

_Grammar Nazi! What did you mean by 'we'?_

A few moments passed in quiet stream noises and leaves rustling and birds chirping, before my phone buzzed again.

_Penelope:_

_Drippy's coming, too. She has a way with the beast. I feel that she is the only reason it is no longer trying to chew my face off. We're almost there. Stay sharp and beware. x_

I had no idea what she was talking about. Whatever this _beasts_ was, it definitely wasn't really eating her, obviously. But I could tell by her excessive use of large words that there was something she _was_ excited about.

I waited for a while longer, kicking my legs out under me and picking at the bark of the tree until it started getting stuck under my fingernails.

It was as I was picking the small bits of wood and moss from my nails that my head snapped up at a dog bark. Then another, and another. High pitched and loud.

I looked around, searching for the source because I was scared that it was going to be a stranger, and I had heard enough scary stories about meeting strangers in the middle of nowhere not to want to go through it myself.

But I spotted it.

It was a puppy.

I leant forward on the trunk to get a better look, grinning suddenly when I saw the two Rostenkowski Sisters walking along close behind the young Collie.

I scurried along the trunk and leapt onto the faint path. The puppy charged at me, yapping madly and wagging its tail so fast that it was just a white, fan-shaped blur with a black splodge on the end.

For a moment I wondered it if would really try to eat me, but I was too ecstatic to care and so grinned at it as it leapt up on me, licking my face as it wiggled in my arms, barking and mauling my neck and jaw with its tongue.

"Ah! Oh my god, you got a dog!" I exclaimed, carrying the ballistic fluff ball over to them both. "When did you get a dog! Oh god, you got a dog!"

"Yeah!" Drippy grinned, "We got him this morning."

"Has it had its shots?" I asked, the mild germ freak in me breaking out a little.

Penelope scoffed and nodded, "Yeah. He's all good."

I put the puppy down, and he ran in circles around us, barking and yapping its head off in its excitement. "What's his name?"

Penelope hesitated before answering, crinkling her nose slightly. "Jelly Bean."

"Jelly Bean?" I cocked an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"Yes!" Drippy frowned defensively.

The eldest sister smirked at me, agreeing with my disagreement. But I had a feeling that it had been made clear that the name wasn't to be changed.

"_Yeah... _His full name is Berry Blue Jelly Bean," she said, as if she was proving how unbearably ridiculous it all was. "Unless you hadn't guessed, Drippy chose the name. And I had no say in it because he gets to sleep in my room. But Mom, Dad and I call him Bean for short."

"I don't," Drippy said. "I like Jelly Bean better"

Penelope rolled her eyes.

"Why is he only allowed to sleep in your room?" I ask Penelope, trying not to laugh.

"Because I've got Lilly," Drippy answered. Lilly was her hamster. I didn't like Lilly at all, she was a vicious, fat, straw-coloured thing with one greyish splodge on her face, kind of resembling a mouldy potato. She would bite anyone who went near her. In fact, the only person Lilly would let touch her was Drippy.

"So, basically what you're saying is Bean's gonna be licking my face every time I sleep over then?" I predicted.

"Don't worry," Penelope reassured, giggling because she knew it was true, "we'll try to work something out."

A laugh escaped me as the puppy rammed into my legs, gnawing at my trouser leg with a playful vengeance. "Bean The Beast!" I growled, rubbing the puppies belly as he flopped onto his back, all for legs tucked under him except his back leg, which he raised ridiculously high in submission, with his tongue stuck out and hanging over one side of his mouth.

"More like Bean The Goof-ball," Penelope chuckled.

I was grinning, but my expression suddenly dropped when, for the first time, beans gaze locked on to mine. "Whoa, his eyes," I marvelled in awe.

Jelly Bean had a pair of bright, glistening, periwinkle eyes. I could see where he got his full name from. As they were the same colour as the candy Drippy named him after. They practically glowed blue. I'd never seen a dog with eyes like that. His ridiculously fluffy coat was mostly white, except for the black splodge at the end of his tail that made it look like he had dipped it in paint. Also he had a few large, brownish coloured patches along his back and then two more on either side of his face covering his ears and eyes on either side, all which had a million little black and white dots in them as if he was a brilliant painting gone wrong. A Great Puppy Art Piece.

"Pretty, huh?" Penelope said.

"So blue," turned out to be my answer.

"Boys aren't pretty," Drippy furrowed her strawberry blonde brow in confusion.

"Yes they are - they can be," Penelope said simply, then motioned to the puppy. "Bean is."

Drippy smiled and stroked between his ears. "Yeah, he is pretty _pretty, _huh. Aren't you, Bean?"

The puppy simply stared at her, tongue out, panting and eyes glowing.

"Hey," Penelope glanced at me, "where's the katana?"

I laughed, "Oh, uh, it got confiscated by the authorities."

Penelope cocked an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her stomach, "_Authorities...?"_

I dipped my head, grinning as I muttered my answer, "Mom."

"Thought so."

Bean suddenly jumped up and ran ecstatically around the three of us, over and over again without relenting.

I was laughing at him. "Why is he doing that?"

"He's a herder dog," Penelope said, grabbing the puppy to stop him and carrying him close to her chest. "It's what he was bred for."

He wriggled against her, then attacked her with his tongue, licking everywhere on her face that he could reach and Penelope giggled as he did.

"Aren't many sheep around here," I said.

"That's okay. He can just keep herding us."

I grinned, the thought of being herded by a puppy hitting my funny bone.

"What're we gonna do today?" I asked.

Penelope shrugged, letting me decide.

"We could take Bean for a walk?"

"We already did," Drippy said.

"He may not look it, but he's exhausted," Penelope said. "Wanna go back to yours?"

I shook my head regrettably, "Mom'd kill me if I let a dog in our house."

"Oh, yeah," Penelope said. "Wanna come over ours?"

I nodded.

So with that, the three of us headed the way they came, fussing over Bean as we went and more than once I would trip over the clumsy puppy.

"Maybe now Mikey and his minions won't be so eager to come after us," Penelope said hopefully.

"Not unless they've got a phobia of puppies."

Penelope sighed, "Well, when he's bigger. Bean'll keep us safe. He'll be the greatest Bully Slayer in the world."

I grinned, "Like PT."

"What?" both Penelope and Drippy said.

"You know... PT, the dog in _Bridge to Terabithia,_" I explained.

"Oh, yeah!" Penelope recognised what I was talking about, as I had let her read my copy of the book a while back. "PT - Prince Terrien The Troll Hunter."

I nodded, "Yeah." Then I crouched down to Bean and automatically the puppy leapt into my arms to let me carry him. "How does that sound, Bean?" I asked him. "You wanna be our Personal Trusty Bully Hunter?"

He stared at me, panting with his long, pink tongue hanging over the side of his mouth.

"He can be a Troll Hunter, too," Drippy said.

I laughed, "Yeah."

Bean barked, wriggling excitedly in my arms until I let him go and watched him clumsily clatter to the ground and bound off up along the track, tripping over himself in that silly, puppy way.

Bean didn't run off like I was worried he would. He always kept an eye on the three of us, Penelope and Drippy in particular. So it only made the hope we had for him being our Bully Hunter all the stronger.

I spent the rest of the day at Penelope's, laughing at Bean, making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, watching so much Nickelodeon TV that our brains turned to mush - but in a good way, and eventually Penelope's Dad took me home in time for supper.

**Notes **

I wanted there to be a puppy... yeah, this chapter was literally so that I could have a puppy in this story... ridiculous, I know.. but meh! XD Hope you enjoyed xx

A smart writer known as **BirningFireBird** pointed out to me that I "can have chapters from Carl's POV when he has a crush on Oliver because it is in Oliver's past." They found a loop hole. Smart them.

So... Anything you want in particular? Bearing in mind if it is in The Prison Era, they aren't dating yet :) they are just really close best friends x but yeah, anything you wanna read in particular? :)

Happy reading xx :_)_


	8. Especially M&M's (not stale)

**Guest** I won't forget. The main story will be updated every Saturday. This story will be updated about twice a week until I begin to run out of juice. Thanks for the support! :D

_About a year and five months since The Outbreak. Oliver, Tyreese, Carol and Judith left The Grove three days ago. They have three more days until they reach Terminus._

_Oliver is fifteen-years-old._

_Late-December._

We were okay.

Tyreese was. Almost.

Carol was. Almost.

I was trying to be. But I wasn't.

So I suppose we were all doing pretty badly actually. Though, Judith was okay. We all saw to that. Since The Grove, we'd all just been making our way to Terminus, walking, walking, and more walking, but as always, keeping Judith Grimes safe and alive was our number one priority. A role in which all three of us seemed to be equally as eager to live up to.

It was about Christmas time. But, it's wasn't hard to guess that none of us were in any type of festive spirit. I didn't think we had been for almost two years.

"It's getting dark," Carol spoke for the first time in almost twelve hours. Her voice gentle and quiet, yet still such an abrupt difference to the natural quiet of the world that she ended up scaring the daylights out of me, to which she pursed her lips apologetically and I tried to ignore my reddening cheeks as I pulled embarrassedly at my beanie.

I nodded, understanding what she was asking by her statement. So I got up and went to fetch some rocks and sticks, coming back a few minutes later and stacking the assortment a few inches tall in a circle around the camp fire we'd made. Carol had taught me the trick a few days before. In having a taller wall surrounding the fire, walkers, or people, wouldn't be able to see us so easily from a distance out in the woods.

We were only a few minutes walk from the track. That trusty track. The track that I couldn't decide whether I loved or hated. For it would either lead me to my family or lead me to the confirmation that my family was dead. That Carl was...

"Oliver..."

I jumped at Tyreese's voice, snapping me out of my thoughts like he so often had to do back then as my zone outs were becoming more frequent, drifting off into my imagination -however intrusive or pleasant they may have been- and almost forgetting about the real world.

But that's what I was so grateful for; Tyreese, Carol and Judith here to stop me losing my mind. Unlike those five months alone when I had no one there to help me keep my sanity, almost causing me the total loss of it.

"Yeah?" I muttered my fist syllable since I woke up that morning. The first day we started our journey, none of us spoke once.

"Hand me the formula?"

I reached behind me to grab the supply bag, taking out a bottle of water and the container of formula powder. I popped it open, checking how much was left.

A wave of fear swamped me ten times over.

_Shit! How did the formula go down so quickly?_

I could have sworn it was mostly full when we left The Grove!

"There's not enough."

Those three words. Those three words that meant the absolute worst to us.

"How much is 'not enough'?" Carol asked, doing well to expel the terror in her voice, though, the colour had drained from her face and her entire posture stiffened.

I muttered that I didn't know as I handed it over to her. She stared at the bottom of the container, looking as though she was glaring into a black hole. Sure as hell felt like the formula had been lost in one somehow.

"There's enough for tonight and tomorrow morning if we water it down," Carol said finally, though we all knew that to water it down meant that there was barely enough for one serving and that we had no choice other than to spread it out over two servings. It wouldn't be enough formula, but at least Judith would still feel as full as if it were.

I took the formula from Carol and handed it to Tyreese with the bottle of water.

"Well, we can loot a store or something tomorrow. I saw on the map that there's a crossroad a few miles up the track and that the road leads to some town. Uh, Cuthbert, I think? Or, something like that."  
>Carol nodded determinedly, "Yeah. Yeah there is."<p>

"We'll leave for it first thing," Tyreese said quietly, talking more to himself than to me or Carol; something he did sometimes back then too.

I watched him feed Judith her formula (her formula that was more water than actual formula) and wondered if he would ever be able to look at Carol the same way he used to... I knew he'd forgiven her. But it was another thing to move on... to let go of what she did.

But he was getting there.

Carol and I prepared supper. A can of peaches from the stash we found in The Grove each and some bottled water. We ate in quiet, quickly and simply, then used our trash to make a perimeter fence around our tiny camp.

"You should sleep. I'll take first watch," I announced quietly.

Carol had a soft smile touching her lips, but her brow was raised in protest. Tyreese's expression was similar, only, without any trace of a smile.

"You're tired," Carol said.

"So are you?" I said back.

She held my gaze, that grey glow in her eyes only just beginning return after The Grove. Over the past few days after getting away, the strength and virtue of Carol Peletier had slowly been mending itself. Slowly. And, she definitely wasn't there yet. Nor would she be there again any time soon. But she was trying.

"I'll take first watch," I insisted, "I don't mind."

They relented, and so I stood up, stepping a few yards away from our camp over to a tree with a low and thick enough branch for me to sit at. I listened, gun and knife on my holster and a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, as Carol and Tyreese both began to get themselves comfortable, hearing Judith's light babbling as she curled up into Carol's form. Until finally, after what felt like an hour, everything went silent all at once.

There it was again. That Deafening Silence.

It was everywhere. So quiet that it hurt. The low buzz of insects and night life wasn't even enough to fully break it anymore. Not since the girls. The quiet became terrifying... deadly almost. And every time I went on watch it only seemed to get worse. But it was worse to try to sleep through it. I couldn't. I hadn't slept properly since Mika and Lizzie... That terrible day.

It drove me mad, that deafening silence. So I got up from my branch-seat and quietly rummaged around in one of our supply bags, grabbing out a pen and the note book Carol took from an abandoned and once overrun camp a few days ago that we'd happened across while looking for a place to crash.

I tore a page out and then put the note book back, before taking the pen and paper back over to my tree to take a seat again. "Might as well make a list for the run tomorrow," I whispered to myself.

I took a deep breath.

"What do we need...?"

Immediately, I wrote:

_**- Formula**_

Then I realised just how much of it we needed and so I added a _**'(LOTS)'**_ to the end of it.

"What else?"

Tyreese began jolting in his sleep, grunting and gripping the earth in his fear. Another nightmare. He was mumbling again too. The usual. Talking to Karen... and Sasha... he sometimes would growl Carol's name too. It was at its worst the first night after The Grove. But like I said, (and had to keep telling myself almost every day) Tyreese had forgiven Carol.

But his dreams were still furious at her.

That first night, he woke up so enraged and dazed and terrified that I aimed my gun at him...

But he stopped... He... He stopped.

But his nightmares had been happening less intensely after that. And his arm was healing better, like my injured temple and abdomen. But Carol was always insisting on administering the tree sap on our wounds just in case we were still at risk of infection.

_**- Antibiotics**_

_**- Band-aids**_

I added once Tyreese's nightmare had faded slightly.

_**- Duck-tape**_

One of the duffel bags we took was beginning to tear, and I had learnt a long time ago that there was pretty much nothing that duck-tape couldn't hold together.

_**- Diapers (LOTS)**_

_**- Bottled water**_

_**- Food**_

_**- Canned food**_

_**- Jarred food**_

_**- Packeted food**_

Ravioli... honey... spaghetti... jam... prunes... corn... jerky... baked beans... potato chips... soup... olives... crackers... tuna... salsa... cereal... sauce... macaroni... Damned baby food for all I cared.

I knew I was getting carried away, but I was so hungry that it felt like it was somehow helping to write it all down.

_**- Any fucking food!**_

It wasn't helping. At all. _Maybe, I just, won't show the actual note to Carol or Tyreese, _I thought. _I'm not sure they'd appreciate the __swearing__._

_**- Especially M&M's (not stale)**_

I'd crossed a line then. Without even thinking about it at first. But then it all flooded back. I thought of Carl.

My mind drifting to our conversations about Lori's awful pancakes, Michonne's stale M&M's, the pudding and the grapes... not out of hunger anymore... but out of longing for the boy I was with in those moments. Those moments that I would sell my own soul for just to get the chance to go back and relive them.

Tears prickled at the back of my eyes, so I quickly scribbled that last item out.

"No one likes stale M&M's anyways."

_**-Socks**_

_**-Ammo**_

I wanted to write more, but then the stupid pen decided to run out. I tapped it against the paper, again and again, but no ink returned. So I got mad, irritated from the bad mood the M&M's mention had given me already, and I ended up scribbling all over the page, leaving deep marks in the paper but still with no ink coming off on it!

Something rustled.

My head snapped up from the paper, everything falling silent as I instantly stopped scribbling, scolding myself for getting so worked up that I had lost so much focus.

Rustling. Again.

My breath caught as I scrunched up the paper, stuffing it into my pocket and then quickly reaching for my gun.

Then I heard its growl. Low and struggling somehow. I squinted in the gloom, searching for the undead lurker that I could hear but not see. My heart began to pound, hearing it slowly come closer in my direction.

I clicked my tongue, wanting the walker to come for me rather than veer off and sneak over to the others in the off chance I could miss it. Even with the perimeter fence, we weren't safe.

My method worked.

I saw it, realising why it was moving so slowly and with such struggled movements as I made out the large bear trap attached to its right leg.

It gargled through its torn jaw, reaching the only arm it possessed out towards me, the other arm torn off at the elbow with decaying muscle tissue and skin hanging from it in a way that should really never happen.

I put away my gun and slid my knife from the other side of my hip. But my breath caught, a wave of nostalgia and guilt hitting me across the face as I gripped Lizzie's blade in my hand. It was the first time I had touched it since I put it there three days ago. I'd vowed I wouldn't, and yet I had just unsheathed, it almost without thinking about it at all... about her at all... about them.

The walker was still ambling for me... but I stayed still, frozen, letting it get closer and closer.

I thought, for one, single, awful moment... _What would happen if I just let it take me?_ I wondered what it would be like? To be a walker... I wondered if it really did change you. Not like the change we all knew about already; turning you into a flesh-eating monster that preyed on the living... but if it changed you like Lizzie always said so... I wondered if there really was any trace of the real person left inside of it anymore...

It was inches away from me, and it went to lunge. But it jerked and tripped. The jagged metal of it's bear trap catching on a root in its rush, as if some unforeseen force had grasped it to save me, sending the thing crashing to the ground at my feet.

I gasped as I snapped out of my stupor. Shaking all over and not realising that tears were streaming down my face as I stared down at the growling and thrashing and furious corps, dodging its arms as it reached for me, snapping its jaw so hard that a few teeth snapped off.

I grimaced, watching as it rose again and tried to lunge at me again. But it was stuck solid, reaching its one arm out to my face with only a few inches between its cracked nails and my skin tear drenched. I was so close that I could've stepped forward and it would've been able to get me...

But I had to stop thinking like that. The walker hadn't been stopped by some sort of fate or luck, it was coincidence. The whole world would keep turning if it had grabbed me and torn my throat out. There was nothing watching out for me or Carol or Tyreese or Judith. Not Mika or Lizzie, not my brother, not my parents. Not Carl. Just us.

So I wiped my face, scowling as I finally poised my hand and quickly dispatched the creature, driving Lizzie's knife right through its eyeball and letting it slump to the ground with a heavy thud and crunch.

I went back to the tree, continuing my watch duties for about three or so hours and trying hard not to think about what I had almost let happen back there... vowing to myself that I wouldn't lose focus like that again... that I wouldn't lose myself thinking about things that made me sad in such a dangerous circumstance...

Until finally, my exhaustion became too dangerous and I went and woke up Carol to let her take over watch, figuring that with the hours she had had time to sleep would be enough for her to stay awake better than I was.

I tapped her shoulder and she jumped slightly, taking in a sharp breath as she turned her head.

"It's me. Sorry. I'm falling asleep. Can you take over?"

"Yeah, sweetie," she said, the moon glistening on the smooth surfaces of her stud earrings. "Take Judith."

"Thanks," I said tiredly.

Carol stared at me as she gave the sleeping baby over. "Oliver..."

There was a pause as I stared right back at her, trying not to let my legs buckle under me for how exhausted I was.

"Have you been crying?"

"No. N-no, I'm fine," I lied, scrubbing the dry tears off of my face that I knew she'd seen.

"Me, too." Was all she said... but somehow I knew that she was talking about the crying.

She went on watch, and I curled up to Judith against the floor, wrapping my blanket around the both of us and letting the sleeping baby's warmth settle me and comfort me as I finally fell asleep.

_~ The Next Morning ~_

Early morning was my favourite part of the day on the road. I'd always found it hard to wake up so early back before The Outbreak and at The Prison. But on the road it was different. Waking up early came naturally to me, either the ground was so uncomfortable that it woke me automatically, or I was just always so weary and aware of the danger that after sunrise I couldn't stay asleep for any longer.

My eyes opened to meet Judith's bright gaze. She was even more of an early bird than I was. "Morning, Judy," I whispered to her, and her response was a short gargle and an absent-minded poke on my chin. "Ow, hey you little monster."

She grinned at me, and I started giggling, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and the sting from my chin. It was nice to laugh for a moment.

"Mornin'."

I turned to see Carol smiling at me. She looked tired after keeping watch for most of the night, but she was relieved and happy too at seeing something happening in our small camp that wasn't all about being sad.

I got up and carried Judith over to her, "Morning. How was it last night?"

"Okay," she answered. "No trouble."

"Good," I said. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom."

I wished that I lived in a world where I didn't have to announce that. But it was basically a death wish to wander off alone with no one knowing where you were and what you were doing... especially out on the road.

I went up the hill we were on, finding a clearing a few minutes away as I followed the faint, pink, morning sun light, knowing that all I would have to do to find the others again would be to keep the sun on my back. I found an appropriate place under a large tree by a fence, standing to face it and unbuckling my zipper to go about my business.

It was as I was doing this that I noticed the scenery over my shoulder.

I had managed to stumble across probably one of the most picturesque sights that I had ever witnessed in my life. I finished up and zipped myself up again, taking a few minutes to appreciate the view before Carol and Tyreese would get worried about me, as they usually gave me about five or ten minutes before they came looking for me.

The clearing I had found wasn't merely a clearing, but the end of the woods we had been sleeping in that night. It led down the other side of the hill to a small, stereotypical-looking, town, with small, local stores and suburbs with square lawns and nice cars outside. It must have been about three or four miles away, and the place I was stood by the tree on the top of the hill let me see almost all of it, with a water tower to the far left and a school and playing field to the right that I could cover with my thumb when I raised my hand and shut one eye.

But what was the most outstanding thing was the sky. This early in the morning, the sun was only just rising from the East. Casting its pink and red and yellow lights across the cloudy sky, until they cleared over in the West a little and the sky became purple and orange and dark blue, even with a few constellations visible in the last few slithers of night that still stubbornly lingered up there.

Then I saw Venus, the pin-prick planet... and instantly I thought of the girls.

Sometimes, if I closed my eyes and thought about them hard enough... they were there with me. I mean, not really _there_. But there in my mind, and I could imagine them stood on either side of me, Mika's hand in my left and Lizzie's in my right, walking with me and talking with me, their cool extremities holding on to mine as tightly as I wanted to hold on to theirs.

"I miss you both."

I wasn't only speaking to myself on the road.

"... I miss all of you."

I was speaking to everyone that I had lost.

"Judy's okay. We're keeping her safe. We're not letting anything happen to her... Promise."

I stayed quiet for a few minutes, gazing over the town as the sun slowly rose and emerged into the day.

"Oliver..."

I startled, the imaginary entities of Mika and Lizzie Samuels dispersing from either side of me as I span around to face my disturber.

Carol.

"Hey," I blurted. "Sorry. I was, uh, I-I found something."

Carol walked closer, coming in to view of the town as she climbed to the peak of the hill. "Oh, wow."

We both took a moment to take in the scene.

"Ain't that somethin', huh?"

"It's beautiful," I nodded. "I kinda, almost forgot that stuff like this still existed."

Carol glanced at me, smiling reassuringly as I brought my gaze to hers.

"We could go loot a few stores down there?" I proposed. "Might get the formula faster than it'd take to get to the other town."

"It's worth a shot," she nodded, bringing her gaze back down to the dead town. "Yeah. An' there aren't many walkers on the streets from what I can see - looks pretty untouched."

"Last night, I made a list of stuff we might need, on paper, you know, from that notebook."

"Oh yeah? Good idea," her brow rose, holding her hand out for me to show it to her.

I hesitated. "Uh, I... um, it's sort of _mutilated._"

"_Mutilated..._" She didn't relent. "C'mon. I'm sure I've seen worse."

I was in no position to disagree. So I fished into my back pocket and pulled out the crumbled note. "Do you want me to read it out?" I tried nonchalantly, embarrassed by the state I had put it in.

But Carol wasn't born yesterday. She cocked her brow, knowing that I was only trying not to let her see what I had done to the paper, but she extended her hand like a school teacher who had just caught her students passing notes.

I handed it over.

She read it, and a sudden, broad smirk exploded over her face, stifled giggles escaping her as she did her best to suppress them. "Well, we'll need a few more things, an' maybe we'll skip the M&M's, but you got the most of it."

I pursed my lips. "I would've written more but the pen ran out." -_**And I almost let a walker eat me- **_"That's what all the scribbles are."

Carol exchanged a knowing glance with me, realising that the marks were more emotional than that, even though I wasn't making it obvious, though, she kindly chose not to press on it and handed the note back to me, slinging her arm over my shoulder.

"C'mon. We'll get back, put some tree sap on your wounds an' then we'll head for that town."

I nodded, walking with her back to camp and the first thing I did when I got back was stuff the note into the side pocket of the supply bag, out of sight, out of mind.

**Notes**

I could write what happened down in the town. But let's face it, that would be boring. I don't feel like I need to anyway, I thought it was easy to just figure that it went okay and that they got the stuff they needed. :)

The beginning was a surprise to me, what with him almost letting that walker get him. But I went with it and I liked the outcome. I thought it was an effective way to show how horribly thrown losing Lizzie and Mika had made him, on top of losing Carl and his home too. But Oliver wasn't essentially suicidal... he was just muddled and depressed and desperate. Also, it kinda reminded me of what a certain female character did in the comic books. (I won't spoil)

I wanted to show the conflict between Tyreese and Carol as well. I hope that worked out in a subtle but noticeable way.

The town was inspired by the town 'Lillian' in the movie _Super 8 _by J.J. Abrams. I love that movie, so much, and if you do too, you should check out** A Sky of Starlight** It's a Super 8 fanfiction made by one of my internet buddies **The Box**. And it really is amazing. As it goes through the movie and then continues into what I truly consider as the sequel to it. Check it out it's amazing!

Hope ya'll enjoyed! I would love for you to leave a comment/review on your way out to tell me of your thoughts :)  
><strong><br>****Pr****eview: ****The next chapter will be Independence Day a few weeks before The Outbreak. ****Oliver is pressurised into talking to new kids, while descovering the vast difference between his laws of attraction between "weird girls" and "scrawny boys"... um... I honsetly am too tired to write a decent preview to it. I'll just post it in a few days and you can just read it if you want to.**

**Don't worry! I am working on a chapter from back at The Prison in Carl's POV :) as requested :) It will be the chapter after next :) And I'm so excited for you all to read it ****(as I have written most of it already)** **and i****t's probably ****turning out to be ****one of my favourite chapters I've written!** **And will be called "Crushing"**

I will finish up the next chapter and have it up by Wednesday or Thursday. I would love it if I got a few comments :)

As always,  
>Happy reading xx :<em>)<em>


	9. Independence Day

_A few weeks before The Outbreak_

_Oliver is thirteen-years-old_

_July 4__th_

"Happy Independence day!"

I grabbed around her middle and lifted her from the earth, running across the soft, summer grass towards the risen creek bank on the right side of The Hanging Tree. Bean barked as he ran with me, the lanky 7-month-old puppy keeping a protective eye on his owner. But he knew I wouldn't hurt her.

"Ollie!" Penelope squealed, giggling and clinging around my shoulders as I leapt from the bank and sent the both of us plummeting down the sheer three foot drop into the clear water below. "Ahh!"

We disappeared under the water, sinking for a moment that seemed to stand still, and then swimming towards the sun shimmering overhead, and holding hands so that we wouldn't lose each other. I heard her laughing just before I broke the surface, coming above the water and sucking in a deep breath.

Bean barked from above me, and I looked up at The Hanging Tree to see him balanced on the thick trunk, staring excitedly down at the both of us. I was chocking on my laughter, standing up so that the tops of my shoulders and head were above the water, but then was greeted with a splash of water to my face.

"Hey!" I laughed, splashing the red-head back and hearing her friend giggling at us from the bank.

I glanced at her. Milly Tanaka was her name. She was petite and quiet and was Asian, with black hair (with a dyed blue and purple streak in it on her fringe) and dark brown, deep eyes. She was in Penelope's home room in the grade above me, and they had made friends and I had seen her around sometimes, but I didn't know her any more than that.

Penelope and I had never invited anyone other than Patrick, Drippy and Bean with us there before. I didn't know how I felt with Milly and a few of Patrick's friends there too. It was nerve racking being around so many people at once in a place I was always so comfortable in, but Penelope insisted, telling me it would be good for me to talk to new kids.

So I was being social, forcing it, a lot, but doing it all the same.

But the thing that was bothering me most was that Penelope had told me that morning before we got here that Milly apparently had a crush on me, which was why she had invited her here.

My stomach flipped whenever I made eye contact with Milly though, and I couldn't decide whether I was supposed to like her back or not, because mostly I just felt uncomfortable and awkward whenever I thought about it. Penelope said it was just nerves. But I wasn't sure. I wanted to be her friend, I knew that, but I just didn't think of her like the way I thought I was supposed to. But that didn't make an awful lot of sense to me, so, mostly, I just tried not to think about it at all.

I heard Patrick's shout, "Incoming!" and then we saw him a moment later as he leapt right past Milly and flew into the water beside Penelope and I, splashing the both of us.

He resurfaced, suddenly grabbing me as he did and dragging me under the water, showing off in front of his friends as I writhed against him, shoving him away and shouting at him through the water. But I heard Bean's bark and then a moment later a splash was muffled in the water.

Patrick let go of me instantly.

I spluttered and gasped as I broke the surface again. "You ass!" I glared at my brother, my cheeks reddening as the others laughed. Bean had jumped in the water and was circling around Patrick like a shark, mildly warning him not to grab me again.

Penelope shushed her protective pet away and giggled as she apologised to my brother. Though, Patrick was more amused than worried of the dog, as Bean had never done anything to hurt him before anyway. I grinned at the Collie, whispering a "Thanks, Bean," under my breath as the young dog paddled beside me for a moment before swimming over to the bank and clumsily drying himself off in the long grass.

We kept swimming for a while, Patrick's friends Jamie and Conner, who were a few years older than me in Patrick's grade, came in too. Conner Hill was shorter than he'd liked to have been, and still had a lot of his baby chubbiness from being a later bloomer than Patrick and Jamie (who were both pretty scrawny anyway), he had dark, short hair and greeny-brown eyes and a sort of crooked smiled.

Jamie Heron was lanky and tall, with a defined jaw and smooth, curly brown hair that he usually styled in a quiff, and he had a set of bold, brown eyes. Puberty had favoured of him, and to top it off he had a _really, really_ nice English accent after moving from there only about five years before, and so most of the girls in school had a crush on him, and I would never admit it, but I kind of maybe did too.

Conner came up with a game. We all had to line up under The Hanging Tree and race to pull ourselves up onto it. Conner, Jamie, Patrick, Penelope and I prepared ourselves. Milly sat on the bank and watched, and the others almost told Penelope not to join too, thinking that it would only embarrass her when she lost... but they didn't know Penelope like I did... and so they didn't know what she was capable of.

"Ready..." Conner started.

"Steady..."

I poised myself, staring up at the thick trunk above, still going to give this a fair chance even though I knew I was about to lose, everyone else doing the same, only, cockily more confident than I was.

"... GO!"

I launched for the trunk, grunting as I struggled to pull myself up, but to my surprise, one glance at the others showed me that they were in the same position as me. Either I was doing better that I thought, or they were just as unfit as me.

Though, not Penelope.

I groaned a laugh as I saw her. She had already pulled herself up and was sitting with her legs hanging over either side of the trunk.

"I win!" she laughed in triumph.

"What?!" Jamie growled in his English accent that only made him sound intelligent and thoughtful rather than mad, and his curly fringe was sticking in clumps over his eyes as he clung to the trunk, flinging his legs out under him in his struggle.

Conner, being slightly chubbier than the rest of us, wasn't very athletic and so he slipped and flopped into The Creek with a loud grunt that got swallowed up under the water. Patrick jumped down, more graciously than Conner, and Jamie let go to drop into the creek too, both of them laughing at their floundering friend.

"Pull!" I held my hand out to Penelope, and she helped grabbed it and helped me up to sit in front of her, grinning madly as she was still buzzing from her win, and her fiery hair hung like bleeding vines over her face, but it still somehow looked pretty like that.

"You let a girl bet you!" Jamie yelled at Conner and Patrick, trying to laugh, but it was hilarious how emasculated they all looked.

I'd learnt to accept that Penelope was stronger and faster than me years ago, so I was enjoying it all as much as she was, grinning and panting and letting the sun dry my bear, wet, skinny torso and thick, brown hair.

"Hey! You lost too!" Conner argued, wiping his hands through his short hair to get the water out a little.

"Fat ass," Jamie insulted, and again, his accent didn't let him sound very angry in that funny, English way.

"Hey, it's not fat, twig legs... it's power!" Conner retorted, laughing it off.

I kind of felt bad for him. Both Patrick and Jamie would gang up on him, in fact, they all seemed to gang up on each other, and they would put up with it because it was expected of them, in that teenage boy socially-normal way, though, it was obvious that they did like each others company really, they just used the almost-too-far banter as a messed up tool for their friendship. I never understood it; the way they were best friends. That's why I liked being Penelope's friend. She wasn't mean to me just for the hell of it or to seem tougher or to make someone laugh. But I guess that was what some people were like though.

They carried on arguing. My brother's cheeks were red from embarrassment and his efforts to climb also, and he fidgeted with the string on the waist of his trunks. "Nice one, Penelope," he praised her awkwardly, changing the subject because we all knew that Conner and Jamie would bicker all day if they got the chance.

Penelope smiled. "Thanks."

Jamie wiped the water from his flustered face, gazing up at her. "Yeah. Where did you learn to climb so bloody fast?" he asked, failing to hide how admirable he was.

Penelope shrugged proudly as an answer, grinning and blushing a little more coyly than I was used to in her.

She took pride in the fact that she could surprise people. She was her own person. She made sure that she didn't give in to pointless social norms or expectations that didn't suit her, she rarely wore make-up and I had never seen her blatantly swoon over a boy in class or a TV actor, or complain about the way she looked expecting for me to tell her she was pretty or whatever. She dressed in what made her comfortable and tried to be happy with the way she was, and even then, while we were all in our swimming trunks, Milly in her bikini, (which had been causing Patrick, Jamie and Conner difficulty all morning as they tried not to stare like the hormone pumped freaks they were) Penelope still wore a T-shirt and shorts over her costume. She had her insecurities, but she made sure she didn't dwell on them too much.

"Oh!" Patrick blurted suddenly, checking his watch which he had left on the bank by Milly. "Oliver, we've gotta get back."

"Oh yeah," I said, standing up and walking along the tree trunk, wobbling slightly, but eventually managing to hop down onto the bank.

Milly smiled at me, and I self-consciously wrapped my arms around my bear chest and tried not to blush.

"What, why?" Jamie asked us, squinting from the sun that bled through the gaps in the trees above.

"We've gotta get home before _N_-... uh, Grandpa gets in from the airport." He had almost called him _Nonno_, which is what we always called out grandfather as it was the Italian translation, but Patrick was embarrassed by how childish it sounded.

"The Italian one? Or the mad one?" Conner asked, his voice slightly shrill from his breaking voice.

Patrick rolled his eyes. "The Italian one _is_ the mad one, Con. All the other grandparents are dead."

My brother ignored the glare I gave him for his insensitive remark, talking about them like they were inanimate objects that had been thrown away, when in fact he cried the most at their funerals. Sometimes I really hated how much of an ass Patrick pretended to be just to impress his friends. Also, Grandpa wasn't mad, he was just... _peculiar._

"He's coming to visit for Independence day, then he's going back home in a few days," Patrick told them. "Basically Dad's still too much of an ass to get time off work to see us, so Grandpa's his replacement."

It seemed that all I was doing that day was frowning at Patrick, knowing full well that he wouldn't have said that if Dad was there to hear it.

"We're all going over to Penelope's later to celebrate. You should come over too if you get the chance."

"Yeah, my dad's setting up fireworks and we're gonna have a barbecue," Penelope said.

Jamie smiled, "I'll have to see what Pa's doing. If he's drunk or high off his head again I'll be able to sneak out and come over. Then again, if he's not then I'll just still sneak out anyway."

I couldn't help but notice the empathetic look Penelope had on her expression for him.

Jamie moved from England to live here with his father because his mother killed herself. Jamie's dad was a known alcoholic and addict in town. But somehow he evaded most charges pressed on him. Jamie would sometimes sleep over ours for a few days if it got bad enough at home. Though despite his bad home life, Jamie never seemed to let people see how truly bothered by it he really was. I only knew how bad it was for him because I would over hear him and Patrick talk about it.

"Okay," Patrick said. "Mom told me to tell you that you could stay over for as long as you wanted, you know, if you don't wanna go home."

Jamie smirked and brushed him off, though he was grateful. "I can handle my old man."

"My mom probably wont let me," Conner admitted a moment later. "We've got most of our family coming down at lunchtime so she needs me there."

Jamie smirked at him. "Mummy's boy."

"Shut up, jerk-off! Just 'cause your dad's a junkie."

Jamie punched him in the shoulder then, his grin fading, but he shook off his offence and looked back to Patrick. "I'll try to come by by seven or so," he said as Conner rubbed his throbbing shoulder.

"'Kay," Patrick said. "See you later, Jamie. Con, see you at school?"

"Yep."

"Penelope, you coming?" I asked, now with my T-shirt on and sneakers, trying not to think about how uncomfortable walking with wet trunks would be.

She shook her head, at the same time twisting the hem of her top to get the water out of it. "No. I'm gonna stay here for a little while longer. Don't have to be back home until nine."

It was around eight-thirty in the morning. We had all gotten up especially early that day to hang out before we had to go home and suffer the stresses of Independence Day with our family. But as much as I wanted to stay too, it was time to go. And I was excited to see Grandpa again.

"Okay, I'll see you later for lunch."

Patrick and I were about to leave, but were interrupted my Milly.

"I might as well head home before breakfast, too," she said, quickly slipping on a summer dress over her bikini and pushing her feet into her flip-flops, and I shoved Patrick's arm to get him to stop gawking at her.

I nodded to answer her, not particularly thinking anything of her accompanying us. But I caught Penelope's grin and risen eyebrows, and instantly I frowned at her behind Milly's back.

But she winked at me!

"_Jesus Christ, Penelope_," I said under my breath as I followed Milly and my brother back up the path, knowing that somehow Penelope had planned this, maybe spoken to Milly and told her to leave with me. As much as I loved Penelope and appreciated her efforts, she really had no idea how much I didn't want to do this.

"What?" Milly asked, hearing me. "What was that, Ollie?"

Only Penelope called me that.

"N-nothing." I must have looked like a deer caught in headlights. "Sorry."

She giggled, continuing to walk, "You're so shy, Ollie."

I furrowed my brow, not sure if I was supposed to feel insulted or complimented. In the end I just felt kind of uncomfortable and muddled, hoping that she would stop calling me "Ollie" as it only sounded patronising.

"See?" she said, smiling sweetly.

"Oh, s-sorry." What the hell else was I supposed to say?!

She giggled again, pushing a lock of blue streaked hair behind her ear and batting her eyelids. I was wondering if she was doing it on purpose, or if she might've just had a bug in her eye or something.

"So..." Patrick said awkwardly, noticing that I was completely flummoxed on what the hell to do to get out of the awkward situation I was trapped in. "Where do you live, Milly? Nearby?"

"A few minutes away from school, actually."

"Lucky. You don't have to walk three miles to get there like me and Oliver." Patrick was handing me a moment to step in and continue the conversation, but I missed the bait. Or rather, dodged it completely.

"Where are you from, you know, originally?" Patrick asked her before the pause got too awkward. Milly had only moved to Lorton half way through the last grade.

"I was born in Japan, but we moved to America when I was a baby. I'd been living in Ohio since coming here in March."

It made sense, she looked Japanese, but her accent was American.

"Cool. How do you like Lorton?" Patrick asked.

She shrugged. "It's small."

"Yeah. Small and extraordinary."

They both giggled.

So we kept walking for a few minutes, Patrick and Milly doing just fine talking together without my help, actually, they were getting along really well. So well, in fact, that once we climbed out on to the regular footpath again and then made our way towards the bridge, Patrick offered to walk Milly home.

"I'll see you at home?" he asked me dubiously, worried because he thought that I might have been jealous.

But I was grinning, teasing him for his blatant crush on her and impressed that it looked like she might've even felt mutual.

Girl's were weird.

"Yeah, I'll see you at home... make sure you're back before we have to leave for the airport or Mom's gonna rip your hair out."

Milly giggled. She did that a lot, I realised.

"Okay," Patrick said as he turned and walked with her.

I hurried up the steps to the bridge, rushing over to the other side and leaning over the brick wall. I grinned madly as I saw Patrick and Milly holding hands now. But I knew that if he saw me watching them he would kick my ass, so I stepped away and continued walking home, unable to shake the grin from my face.

_~ 8:50am ~_

"Where is he?" Mom asked after we had been waiting almost half an hour for my tardy brother. We had to leave in ten minutes if we wanted to be on time.

"I told you, he was just walking Milly home. He said he'd be back."

"_Questo è ridicolo. Quel ragazzo si sta trasformando in tuo padre!_"

I frowned. I hated it when she said things like that. She'd said that Patrick was turning into our father.

"No he's not," I reassured her. "Milly's house is all the way by school, so, he's probably just taking a while to get home. You shouldn't worry so much. He always keeps his word, you know that."

Mom arched her brow, giving me a soft grateful smile, "Since when did you get all grown up?" she asked me, picking at her nails; a nervous habit that I sometimes mimicked without meaning to.

I smiled and shrugged.

But it was just then that I heard the familiar click of the front door.

"Mom?"

"Finally," she said under her breath, standing from the stool in the kitchen and grabbing her purse from the counter. "Let's go, boys."

"Oh," Patrick sighed with relief, "I thought you'd left without me."

"No, but we're gonna be late."

"No we won't, Mom," I reassured her.

We all filed into the car. A silver _Audi Sedan_ that looked more flashy than it really was. Dad had it bought for Mom four years back when we moved and he'd got his promotion. Mom hated the car, said it was because of the funny dials on the dash board, but Patrick told me it was because it reminded her of Dad's empty promises. She still drove it though.

"How did it go with Milly?" I asked after a while out of boredom, tearing my eyes away from the trees and cars speeding past because they were beginning to make me car-sick.

"Great," Patrick said, "she's really cool."

I smiled.

"Sorry."

"For what?"

"You know, uh, n-never mind."

I furrowed my brow, about to tell him to explain. But he spoke before I did.

"You know, her Japanese name is Miyoko."

"Cool."

"And she's only changed it to Milly so that it's easier and not so embarrassing when people get it wrong."

"That's... _thoughtful_?" I wasn't really sure what he wanted me to say.

"But, I don't know, I kinda like Miyoko better - suits her."

I had a hunch that he was just talking about her to literally just talk about her, and I was grinning immaturely, "Sounds like you had a good time," I teased him, talking quietly enough so that Mom couldn't hear us in the back over the engine.

He blushed, a nervous and excited flicker in his brown eyes. Patrick eyes were almost identical to mine, though, his were slightly darker like Mom and Dad's, whereas mine were lighter with those gold-coloured flecks in them after my Grand Father.

My eyes widened as I realised what he was so ecstatic about. "Oh my gosh... You kissed, didn't you?"

Patrick grinned, blushing harder.

I chuckled at him, shaking my head in jest.

"Yeah, we did," he admitted coyly. "It was good, too."

I grimaced a laugh. "Glad you both had fun."

_~ 10:40am ~_

We were late.

The traffic was terrible. The journey that should have taken only an hour took almost two, causing us to get there ten minutes after Grandpa's flight came in at ten-thirty.

We went to the bay he was supposed to wait at, only to find that he wasn't there at all. But the flight had arrived, as the large plane was parked outside of the window, the heads of air hosts moving through the isles doing their checks.

So we asked around, trying not to panic.

Fabiano De Luca, my grand father, was mostly blind from his age, as his vision was cloudy and unfocussed, and we knew that he had a slight tendency to wander off sometimes, so it really wasn't helping that he was walking freely around an airport, especially on Independence Day.

A young couple told us they saw an old man on the plane, and said that they vaguely remembered him going off in the direction of the shopping area.

"He probably got hungry and went to get himself a happy meal," Patrick joked as we all rushed in the direction of the airport mall area.

Mom glared at him, "_Non essere così irrispettoso_," she reprimanded sternly but gently.

"Sorry," Patrick apologised, realising how worried Mom was becoming. Her black waves swayed over her shoulders as she hurried with us, her expression tense and her brown eyes deep in concern as her gaze skipped over every face she could see.

But then she lit up.

"_Papà!_" she suddenly called.

I looked to where Mom was shouting and spotted the old man. He wondered through the airport, wearing a pair of jeans and a dark grey blazer with a green sweater vest under it, lazily dragging his suit case behind him and walking with a slight hunch and limp.

"I told him to wait at the bay once he got off the plane," Mom ranted.

"_Nonno!_" I shouted, grinning madly as I ran ahead after him with Patrick close on my tail, weaving past people as they rushed or dawdled to where they needed to be.

Not only was Grandpa mostly blind, but he had 'selective hearing' as Dad would say. Not deaf, or hard of hearing, he was just a distractable person, and often wouldn't hear what you were saying unless you made sure he knew you were speaking to him. It was good that my aunt, Mom's sister, lived over in Italy with her family to keep an eye on him at home.

"_Nonno_, wait up!"

"Huh?" He turned to me, wobbling slightly and his bushy, grey, imposing eyebrows furrowed so deeply that his wrinkles looked like they could hide the whole world's secrets inside of them.

I skidded to a stop in front of him, my sneakers squeaking as they rubbed against the smooth airport floor, leaving marks.

"_Tu chi sei?_" he asked, startling slightly and holding his hand up in defence.

"It's me," I blurted, forgetting to use Italian in my shock. _Gosh, he doesn't recognise me? _I thought,_But it's only been half a year!_ "_Sono _Oliver, _Nonno_."

Patrick stood off to the side, watching with a tense frown.

But a smile broke over Grandpa's face as he realised who I was again. That warm, familiar, beloved smile that I remembered so fondly and loved in that warm, fuzzy, family way. He let out a long, low laugh in his wise demeanour, and extended his hand to my face. Gently taking both of my cheeks in each of his rough, callused palms and carefully tracing my facial features with his thumbs. This was how he always greeted us. It was his way of _seeing _us without eyes.

"_Prestante come mai,_" he complimented.

He'd called me handsome and I grinned, and he grinned back as he felt my expression change and my cheeks heat up against his palms.

"_Nonno, non si può nemmeno vedermi,_" I told him, reminding him that he couldn't even see me properly.

He laughed again and pulled me in for a hug. I liked Grandpa's hugs, his arms were so long and big that it felt like someone had wrapped a warm blanket around me, though, only if the blanket had stubble and smelled like Oregano and Basil with a hint of sea salt engrained in the fabric.

Patrick came over and hugged him too, and Grandpa traced his face like he did to me, telling him that he was a handsome devil and that he had grown taller.

Then Mom embraced her father, tears in her eyes as father held daughter after six months without seeing one another. He didn't trace and _see_ her face though. To him she was always going to be the young, innocent, baby girl he had raised.

It was nice having one piece of our family back, even if there was still another piece missing.

_~ 1:00pm_

We managed to arrive at Penelope's house on time after spending a little time at home getting Grandpa settled into my room. My room was always used for Grandpa, mostly because I always kept it tidy and there wasn't the off chance of him accidentally finding dirty magazines under my bed. Unlike Patrick's room, which was always messy in some way or another, and always seemed to smell like body odour and other such secretions that pubescent, messy boys smelled of. I was going to have to sleep in his room with him until Grandpa left. But I knew that I would end up sleeping downstairs on the couch so that I could read without disturbing Patrick with my light.

Mom knocked on the front door or The Rostenkowski Residence.

"Mom, they always leave the door open," I told her. "I usually just walk right in."

Mom frowned. "I hope you don't. Where did your manners go? You don't go into a house until you're invited."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, "Jeeze, you'd think we were vampires," I whispered under my breath.

But Grandpa heard me and even though he didn't understand what I had said, he thumped me on the back of my head for answering back to her.

"Agh!" I rubbed the back of my head, glaring at him as he tried to hide his smirk.

Patrick chuckled under his breath, and Grandpa thumped him too for teasing me.

"_Smettila!_" Mom grumble at all of us, frowning because Grandpa was supposed to be here to help her keep Patrick and I out of trouble.

The door opened.

"Hey," Tate, Penelope's father, greeted us. "Why didn't you just come in?" he asked warmly. "Didn't Oliver tell you we always leave the door open."

I grinned in smug at Mom, amused when she scoffed and rolled her eyes at me. "Hi, Tate."

They hugged, and Tate invited us inside.

Mom had a good relationship with the Rostenkowski family. It started when I made friends with Penelope, and then they had been friends ever since as well.

Tate Hahn was a Korean man, slim but strong build with dark brown eyes and black hair that was a little long and hung over his temples from the middle parting he had. Because of that, he had a habit of always running his fingers through it, and he always used to make me think of some movie star whenever he did.

Obviously, he wasn't Penelope or Drippy's real father, due to them both being of American heritage, and he and Tamara weren't married either. He was just there. To me, he always had been.

I'd never met Penelope's real dad. All I knew was that he left them about a year before I moved here and Penelope and her family never saw him again. I once heard Tamara say to my mom that Tate was more of a father to Penelope and Drippy than their father ever was.

Everyone filed through the tidy, light-green and cream themed house to go out to the garden.

Penelope's garden was big. With a small man-made pond in the middle of it and a giant Willow tree near the end that had an old tree house built in it and a hammock. Nearer to the house was the patio.

Tamara, Penelope's mother, was preparing the hot dogs and burgers on the barbecue. Her hair was up in a bun that day, and I remember thinking that her freckles looked so vibrant that they could skip out of her skin if she asked them to.

Patrick would always drool over Tamara, he once said something about her being a... _MILF_...? Or, something like that. At the time I had thought he had said the word 'milk' wrong or something. And I still have no idea what he meant.

Penelope wasn't out there. I could see Drippy over in the tree house, the small American flag painted over her cheek, and she had hung a big American flag out of the window of the tree house, and I watched as it blew lazily in the Summer evening breeze. I myself had chosen to wear a T-shirt with the American flag on it, and Patrick was wearing a pair of sneakers with it on them too.

Then there was a Jelly Bean... ramming into the back of my legs.

"Raghh!" I grunted as the clumsy seven-month-old Collie hurtled into me with such force that I crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Bean!" I groaned as Patrick, Tate, Mom and Tamara all laughed at me. Grandpa hadn't even noticed what had happened, too busy staring at something on the wall.

I rubbed between the dog's ears as I stood up again. Bean had grown immensely since I first saw him that day at The Creek. He was still only a puppy, but he was taller and kind of comically lanky and scrawny, like a teenager yet to be filled out when he matured.

"Where's Penelope, Bean?"

He panted at me, quickly turning on he back legs and leaping into the house with a single bark. Luckily, over time Jelly Bean's constant yapping had lessened since he was a little puppy. I followed him, saying goodbye to everyone before I left as Bean rushed up to Penelope's bedroom to find her.

Like I thought, Penelope was writing. Typing away on her laptop and occasionally scribbling down notes on her note book just beside her.

She didn't even look up to me as I burst through her door with Bean bounding in after me.

"Happy Independence Day," I chuckled quietly as I closed the door behind us.

"Hey," she said distractedly, typing away.

Bean jumped up onto her bed. He wasn't supposed to go on there, as he had his own bed on the floor, but he rarely slept on it unless Tate or Tamara came in. I slumped down on the bed beside her, sitting with my back to the wall and my legs dangling over the long side.

"What better way to spend it than to sit around all day?" I joked, though, neither of us were particularly bothered to socialise... or move for that matter. We'd much rather to sit and read or write for hours.

She grinned.

Satisfied, I took out my book from my backpack and began reading.

It was _The Book Thief. _

Mom had been reading it for book club, and I had been reading it whenever she wasn't. I don't think she'd even noticed I had it yet.

"Did you start _Cirque De Freak _yet?"

"Nope," I answered, finding my page. "I gotta finish this before Mom takes it back to the library."

"Oh," Penelope mumbled, going back to type a few paragraphs.

"What story are you working on today?" I asked when I nosily glanced at her laptop screen, seeing it split in half with Youtube (paused) on the left side and her writing on the right side. She was watching a gaming play-through as she wrote. The dork she was.

"The one about the girl who dreams about the future."

I liked that story. Penelope had gotten the idea when I'd told her about a dream I had. I had missed some History homework, and then it turned out the next day that I really had missed it. It was weird. But it impressed her enough to get her creative juices flowing.

So for a while we just sat and read and wrote, occasionally asking the other something that we weren't sure of. Like, Penelope would ask what was a better way to phrase something, and I would ask what a certain word meant.

"You know, you didn't actually talk to any of them at The Creek," Penelope said after a while.

I glanced at her from my page. "Didn't I?"

"No," she grinned, turning her head to look at me.

"Well, Connor didn't really talk much to me. And I speak to Jamie sometimes when he's over mine with Patrick. And I spoke to Milly, on the walk to the bridge," I proved.

Penelope gave me a tired look, "You spoke to Milly because I'm betting she left you no other option."

I rolled my eyes, though, didn't deny it.

"How'd it go with her by the way?"

I shrugged. "She's nice. Patrick walked her home."  
>"What?!"<p>

"It's no biggie. I told you, I don't like her like that."

She furrowed her brow, examining me curiously.

"I don't know why you want me to talk to people so much anyway."

"Because," she rolled her eyes. "I'm not gonna be there to speak for you for the rest of your life. As much as I love you, being Oliver De Luca's personal subtitle provider isn't the job I had in mind."

"Yeah, but you're a great subtitle provider."

She poked my nose. "Well, Olllie, you need to find your own voice."

I rolled my eyes and then pulled a face at her.

Penelope relented, sitting back and typing for a moment. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise how much you weren't interested."

"It's okay. I just don't want a girlfriend."

She smiled, talking without looking away from her screen. "Me neither."

We both giggled at that.

I turned my gaze to the bedroom door when I heard shuffling outside. Then a moment later, the door opened and Grandpa strolled in.

"U_h... Nonno?_"

He startled, "_Oh...! Uh...__Ho pensato che questo era il bagno. Scusi._"

I grinned. He thought this was the bathroom. Peculiar, see? "_È nella successiva camera,_" I told him, explaining that the bathroom was next door.

He smiled and nodded. But he double took, only just noticing Penelope sat beside me through his poor eyes.

"Penelope, _Sì?_"

"Hello, Mr. De Luca."

He smiled and gestured to himself, "_Sono Fabiano_." He always preferred people called him by his first name.

"Fabiano," Penelope repeated, nodding politely.

He gestured her to step towards him, holding his hands out towards her slightly. Penelope had never actually met my Grandpa before, as, in the five times he had been here to see us she was always busy or on holiday or something, so naturally she hesitated, a little afraid of what he was trying to do.

"It's okay," I reassured her, "it's how he looks at you."

She tensed her expression at me, but reluctantly clapped her laptop closed and stepped off of her bed to greet him.

"_Ah,_" Grandpa sighed as he _looked_ at her, gently grazing his thumbs over the girl's nose and eyelids,_ "__Bella Bambino."_

Penelope knew what that meant, as my mother called her it all the time, and she smiled so broadly that Grandpa's hands moved a little as he carefully ran his thumbs over her eyebrows, and he smiled back, nodding to make sure she knew he was telling the truth.

"_Cosa state facendo voi due qui? Perché non andate al piano di sotto e aiutare a preparare l'insalata?_" Grandpa asked when he gently released Penelope. He suggested us to go downstairs to help make the food.

"_Nonno..._" I moaned in dismay. I hadn't even started reading yet.

Penelope just looked confused.

"_Vai avanti, ragazzo. Non siate pigri. Vai aiuto,_" he insisted, telling me not to be lazy. "_Tu sei adolescenti. Non robot. Non si può sedere dentro tutto il giorno che agisce modo asociale._"

"_Sì,_ _Nonno_," I grumbled as I grabbed Penelope's sleeve, like one would grab a teddy bear's arm, and tugged her to come with me. "Alright, we're going."

I caught Grandpa's smirk as he made out me holding Penelope's hand through his cloudy vision, like most, he was getting the incorrect idea from how close we were.

So Penelope, Bean and I went downstairs, and Grandpa went to the bathroom, feeling along the walls so that he wouldn't walk into anything. He was very talented at getting around without stepping wrong or tripping. He didn't drive or read or work anymore, so being mostly blind didn't hinder him very much.

"_Nonno _told us to come help you," I told Tamara as we walked into the kitchen, she was rummaging around in the fridge.

"Oh, that'd be great," she said happily, pushing an armful of salad ingredients into my arms. "Thank you."

I took them over to the sink, almost tripping over Bean as he trotted happily under my feet, but I managed to stay on my feet this time, and dropped the ingredients on the counter. "Do you want us to wash them?"

"Yes please, sweetie," Tamara smiled, "Penelope, you start cutting the watermelon for the fruit salad."

"Can we eat some now?" she asked her mother, carrying two big watermelons to the other side of the sink that I was at, already filling the bowl and dumping the vegetables into it.

"Only a little," Tamara allowed.

"Thanks," her daughter said.

"You two okay doing this?"

We shrugged and nodded, not particularly bothered. I was quite enjoying the cold water cooling my skin, and Penelope was just happy she was allowed to eat the watermelon.

"Good. All you've gotta do it cut up the vegetables and fruit. When the fruit salad is done, leave it in the fridge. When the salad is done, bring it out to everyone. I've got to go make sure Tate and Patrick aren't burning the whole yard down."

Tate was a terrible cook. Patrick was worse.

"Okay, Mom," Penelope chuckled, and I giggled into the sink, gently scrubbing the thick green leaf of a lettuce.

It took Penelope only a few more minutes to finish the fruit salad and put it in the fridge for later. But I, on the other hand, was so bad at preparing food that just cleaning the stuff took ridiculously long.

Penelope scoffed incredulously, "God forbid the day you have to make your own food!" she said.

I chuckled, "I'm tying my hardest."

"Give it here. You start cutting what you've already cleaned and I'll wash them for you."

"Alright," I chuckled, relenting as I took the knife from the magnetic knife stand on the wall beside the cooker, then going about to slice the cucumbers and lettuce and tomatoes and peppers, occasionally nabbing a piece of watermelon that Penelope had left for us, and dropping the vegetables that I had finished into a glass bowl.

But I'd been cutting too quickly. My mind unfocused and over-elated as I chewed on the watermelon and laughed at something Penelope was saying about the Youtube video she was watching earlier... So my palm was in the way of the kitchen knife as I brought it down to cut through a tomato.

I felt the sting as the sharp steel sliced through my skin.

For some reason, I sort of just stared for a moment, watching as the scarlet liquid dribbled from the heel of my palm near the base of my thumb.

"Uh..."

Penelope was giggling, still amused by what she was talking about and not noticing what I had done to myself.

"Uhh..."

She caught the shrillness in my voice, and turned her head as I lifted my hand and held it out in front of me.

She gasped loudly, dropping a handful of lettuce into the water. "Oh my God!"

"Uhh..." was all I could think of to say, slowly turning to her with a rigid frame and wide eyes, presenting my bleeding hand to her like one would show someone a picture on their phone.

"Oliver," the startled Rostenkowski moaned sympathetically. "How did you even manage that?"

I barely whispered my answer, "I dunno..."

She watched the blood, making a small trickle from the slice. "Come here. It doesn't look too bad."

I winced as she took my hand, more out of fear of pain than any actual pain. It stung slightly, but it wasn't nearly as bad as I must have been making it look.

She pulled slightly, dipping her head... and then her mouth was pressed over the cut.

"Penelope!" I rose up on tip toes, caught off guard and unable to stop my mouth and eyes from widening.

She pulled away and frowned at me, "What?"

"What're you doing?"

"Cleaning it. That's how dogs do it. You know, it gets all the blood away and makes it stop bleeding."

"Oh," I said, relaxing my hand again and letting her proceed.

It was weird, feeling her run her tongue over the cut. But it didn't hurt. That was what I was scared of the most. I didn't like pain at all.

"See? It wont bleed so much now."

"Thanks," I said, prodding at the slightly damp incision.

"C'mon," Penelope insisted, "keep chopping."

So I did.

_~ 7:00pm ~_

_**CRACKLE!**_

Drippy let out a squeal, clasping her hands to her chest as the bright, blue firework exploded over head. We were in the tree house, Penelope, Patrick, Drippy and I, watching excitedly as Tate manned the flammable rockets.

The world went dark again, leaving retina burns in my eyes wherever I looked, in every strange shape that the fireworks had gone off in. But I heard Tate's lighter click and I saw the flame suddenly dance in his hand. It fizzed, catching on to the fuse.

"Daddy, run!" Drippy screeched, clutching to a giggling Penelope.

He did, taking cover by the patio with the others.

Then, a series of loud crackles and spinning green and red and pink lights shot up into the air, leaving golden sparks in their trail as if they were alive.

_**POP!**_

_**CRACK!**_

_**HISS!**_

It was like an atomic frying pan.

Bean was going crazy down below, circling the tree as if trying to herd it. The lights and noise sending him into an uncontrollable frenzy of panic, and he barked continually for Penelope and Drippy.

"Inside!" Penelope commanded him.

He hesitated, wanting to stay close to his masters, but terrified all the same and he was shaking and whining.

"Bean, go inside!"

He galloped away, and Mom only just pushed the screen door open into the house before the clumsy puppy would have ran right into it. She closed it again, and a moment later I saw Bean, who had already tore through the house, suddenly leap in to Penelope's bedroom window. His spotty, wet nose pressed and wiping against the glass as he watched everything from safety, wagging his tail so violently that the curtain jolted each time it was hit.

The next purple and yellow fireworks fizzed skyward, sounding like some kind of fire-powered-velcro!

"Whoa!" Patrick laughed.

The display went on for a few minutes, and so did other displays talking place in other areas of town that we could see from the tree house. It was so cool. Definitely my favourite part of Independence day.

Tamara had set up fairy lights over by the porch, and so that was the only place that lit up when the fireworks weren't going off, but it was beautiful. The golden shimmering from them made everything glow, and it cast shadows across the grass and made it look like there was a tiny city inside of the soil whenever the fireworks moved their lights across it.

More went off, and all of our head flew up as we watched the bright colours explode over the black sky, leaving curly smoke clouds when the light was gone.

"Jamie's here," Patrick said suddenly.

I looked to where he was grinning, spotting the fifteen year old emerge through the house with Tamara (as she had let him in).

Patrick shot out of the tree house to go and greet his friend, and I continued to watch the fireworks. But I couldn't help it when I'd glance down at Jamie every time the glow of the fireworks illuminated him.

I was noticing things.

Like how he'd styled his hair into his, trademark, slightly messy quiff again. And the white, v-necked top he was wearing, how it fit snugly to his torso and shoulders. The way the crazy lights were making his jaw even more defined, like some kind of fictional manga character. And how he looked sad, kind of, but like he was focused and determined as well.

The fireworks had stopped for a moment. But I was still watching him, my curious eyes following his movement as he wandered with my brother across the yard towards the tree house.

But then I noticed that Penelope was staring at me.

Her eyebrows furrowed slightly when I met her curious gaze, snapping my eyes to hers with a slight jump as I watched her eyes flickered between me and who I was looking at.

Playing it off as nonchalantly as I could, I picked at the band-aid on my palm (Tamara had put it on when she noticed it) and then I looked up at the sky, watching as another firework went off, screeching as it span to the heavens and then erupted into every colour, so bright that I could feel the heat on my cheeks... or was I blushing?

I tried not to think about it, watching the display as Jamie and Patrick came up and joined us, exchanging friendly _hey's_ and _hello's_ with each other before going back to watch the fireworks for a little while. Though, I could have sworn I saw a bruise on the side of Jamie's face. But maybe it was just the dim lighting or the shadows casting across his features.

_~ 10:00pm ~_

I'd retreated into the house once the fireworks had ended and we all had filled up on as much food as we could. Everyone stayed outside, talking and laughing and enjoying the evening. But it was a little too loud, too busy. All I wanted to do was sit and read for a little while finally. I knew my mom or Grandpa would insist I stayed outside with everyone, so I slunk away without them noticing, figuring that if they came looking for me I could just say I was in the bathroom or getting a drink or something.

So I sat and read my book on the bottom of the staircase for a while, enjoying myself in my own way. Bean was curled up at me feet, snoring away and exhausted after all the fireworks too, and like me, avoiding going outside from all of the noise.

A moment late, his head popped up, hearing someone walking towards the door.

"Hey."

_Dammit, _I winced, expecting whoever it was to tell me off for ditching everyone as I leant forward to look past the banister.

But it was Jamie, poking his head in through the living room door.

I almost dropped my book. "Oh, uhm, hey."

He leant on the door frame, cocking his brow as he looked at me and Bean huddled on the stairs. "Patrick thinks you're mad at him."  
>"What? Why?" I asked, scratching Bean's head as he rested it across my foot again.<p>

He shrugged slightly. Even his shrug looked European somehow. "What with everything that happened between him and Milly... He says you've been really good about it, but he's still worried that he's hurt your feelings."

God, that accent was nice.

"N-no," I said truthfully, slightly distracted, "no, I'm happy for him. I really don't mind. He and Milly were getting along really well."

"Yeah. He definitely likes her."

I pursed my lips awkwardly, not really sure how to continue our conversation.

"Milly not your type then?" Jamie said before the gap became uncomfortable, still leant on the door frame with his cheek only just touching the wood.

"Uh, no, I guess not."

"Why?"

I tried not to frown, running my fingers through the tuft of hair on Bean's head out of awkwardness. "I dunno. She's nice, and Patrick and Penelope always say she's nice too. And she's pretty and all that... I just... I dunno – I just don't really think of her that way."

"What about Penelope?"

I rolled my eyes. It was like a broken record when people asked me that. "We're just friends."

"Yeah, but..." he walked into the hallway, closing the door behind him and then coming over to me to sit beside me on the step above, and I shuffled over to give him room, "you can't tell me that you don't notice her sometimes. I know I do. A lot. Like, a lot, a lot."

"Oh my gosh," I chuckled incredulously.

Jamie scoffed in defence. "Come on," he insisted.

I shrugged. "Well, no, not really," I answered. "I mean, she's my best friend and she's pretty. And she's awesome... but I dunno, I just... don't."

He frowned, looking genuinely troubled.

"Are you gay?" he asked.

Jamie was probably the bluntest person I'd ever met.

I frowned. "No!"

His eyebrows flew up. "You sure?" he asked. "'Cause, you know... it's cool if you are. I mean, I'm not sure what most of the others would say, but I won't tell."

"Yes you would," I blurted, grimacing uncomfortably. "You'd tell Patrick for sure."

A look of surprise broke over his expression. "So you are gay?"

"N-no! God," I hissed. "I was just saying, y-you'd tell, you know... if, uh, if I was."

"No, I wouldn't," Jamie insisted, looking slightly offended. "I'm good at keeping secrets. So, I wouldn't tell anyone if you didn't want me to."

"I'm not!" I urged defensively, failing to realise that he wasn't patronising me like he so often did, especially to Patrick and Conner. "I'm just not obsessing over who has the biggest boobs or the nicest butt like you and Patrick always do!"

"Alright, alright!" his hands rose in submission.

"Good," I said, glaring at the floor and knowing that my cheeks were bright red.

Jamie kept watching me for a moment, furrowing his brow, until finally he just sighed and leant his head on his hand. As if he was bored.

"How's everything? You know, at home and stuff." I don't know why I asked that. In truth I wanted to continue reading, to forget that this conversation had ever happened, but I also kind of wanted to keep talking to him. To listen to that accent and to look at that somehow European-looking quiff for a little longer.

"It's okay I guess," he answered dismissively. "Dad got a little angry a few hours ago, gave me this..." He turned his head, and I saw that mark that I thought was just a shadow before. But it was a bruise. A sore looking bruise with red and purple and blue mixed together like it had been blended by a faulty smoothie machine. "But it's no malarkey. I can deal with him."

"Sorry," I said.

"Nah, it's fine."

Now I really just wanted to read, feeling awkward because I had only made things more uncomfortable. "I'm... I'm gonna, uhm, keep reading... if that's okay with you."

"Yeah," he suddenly grinned in amusement. "Have fun you big, book worm. Go lose yourself in all those made up realities."

I scoffed lightly. "It's _The Book Thief. _World War two wasn't made up."

"Yeah, but the story you're reading is."

That was true.

"See you later," he said. "I'll go tell Patrick."

"What?!" I glared at him, panicking.

"Oh, no, no. About Milly."

My cheeks and neck were red again. But I nodded and tried my best to pretend I wasn't coursing with sudden adrenaline. "Oh, right. Okay, cool."

"Okay," he grinned, "cool."

He left to go back to the others after that, and eventually, after a few seconds of muddled thoughts and trying my best to ignore them, I went back to my book, doing as Jamie said and 'losing myself' in the made up adventures of Markus Zusak's novel.

**Notes**

I hope that all the Italian isn't too confusing. I am using Google Translate, and it isn't very reliable. But I am doing my best :) Also, to make it easier, I'm making sure that you guys (who do not speak Italian, as I am sure those of you who do are laughing at how bad attempt I am making XD) understand what they are saying with a few words after to elaborate.

I hope you like Conner, Jamie and Milly. Also, Penelope's parents, Tamara and Tate. And Fabiano! ← I love him.

You might be seeing more of Jamie. It enjoyed writing Oliver's little crush on him. It's such a different from the blown out love struckediness of his feeling for Carl :)

**Preview: Crushing. It will be in Carl's POV :) I'm kinda extremely exited to post it when I finish writing it. **

Hope y'all enjoyed! Please leave a little comment on your way out to tell me of your thoughts :)

Ps. If you want to see what the new characters look like (to me) go check out Stale M&M's on The Walking Dead Fanficion . com (I don't know how to add links, sorry)

As always,

Happy reading xx :_)_


	10. Crushing (CARL'S POV)

_A week before The Attack._

_Oliver is fifteen-years-old. Carl is fourteen-years-old._

_A little less that a week into December._

**Friendly reminder: This whole chapter is in Carl's point of view.**

_He was with me. _

_That strange, mysterious boy._

_.._

_His brown and gold oracles bored into my blue._

_His hold around me secure and gentle._

_His body against every part of me._

_His heat felt intoxicating._

_.._

_And all I felt was alive._

_.._

_Our passionate, carnal movements were synchronised._

_Stimulating our senses in ways I didn't know possible._

_.._

_And we didn't stop._

_.._

_Skin on skin._

_Heart to heart._

_Mind in mind._

_Soul with soul._

_.._

_Kissing me..._

_.._

_Touching me... _

_.._

_Nudging me... _

_.._

_Inside of me... _

_In every way and more._

..

" _Oliver . . . _"

_.._

_But then, footsteps invaded our forbidden Nirvana, and the sudden swarm of fear and dread was poison._

My eyes snapped open with a sharp intake of air, gripping my pillow with white, bloodless fingers that dug deep into the fabric. Cold sweat ran down my face and soaked my pyjamas. I was panting and shaking and panicking, feeling a familiar hardness between my legs and I winced in shame and embarrassment, forcing the images and desires to disperse and scramble out of my mind.

But the footsteps, they weren't going away...

Adrenaline consumed me. I swivelled around onto my front to spare my dignity, knowing that my father was on his way to wake me. My eyes shut on themselves and I tried to slow my panicked breathing and hammering heart beat.

He knocked on the bars of my cell, and I made a decent attempt to fake rousing from my sleep and groaning at him in dismay towards it.

"C'mon," Dad said quietly, softly, reassuringly, with that familiar Southern drawl, "chores."

I nodded, mumbling nothing that made a real sentence to either of us, but it got the message through and so he left to give Judith over to Carol or Beth and wait for me.

I sat up, rubbing my eyes and running my fingers through my hair, feeling the sweat soaking my scalp.

The images tried to slip back into my mind again and my stomach was mauled with butterflies as I tried hard not to picture what I had dreamt about...

I wasn't supposed to feel that way.

I wasn't suppose to think like that.

No one else did.

There had to be something wrong with me...

It wasn't normal...

It was wrong!

But then why did it feel so right...? Why did it feel so peaceful... so at home... so good?

I shook my head, contorting my face and so confused by my thoughts that I was close to crying. My spine folded forward and my hands bawled into fists in my hair, pulling at it furiously, almost as if I was trying to punish myself for my thoughts...

I guess that I was really.

And I did.

I scolded myself, silently screaming at myself to stop thinking like I was... to stop feeling the way I felt... to stop being the person I was.

It hurt.

So bad.

Lying to myself and forcing myself to pretend... it was torture. For months... it had only been getting worse.

I had woken up in the same state more than four times that week. The... _dreams... _they were remorseless, unrelenting. Each similar, but with something subtly unique about them every time. Sometimes the dreams were mashed and cluttered with detail, and other times they were simple and with only a few words or snippets that I was aware of.

And _he_ was always there.

Always.

But... I never wanted him to go away.

Ever.

I was trying so hard to stop it... to stop it all... to change myself... to try to figure out why I felt the way I did, only to then hate myself when I wanted the things I wasn't supposed to even more... It was too confusing. Too muddled. Too infuriating.

And it was his fault.

It had started ever since I saw him driving through those gates. Ever since those golden flecked oracles touched my blue, and only got worse when, later, he showed me his smile, with that slight over-bitten, crooked curve in it that I couldn't seem to get enough of.

"Carl, you ready?"

I startled at my father's voice, letting go of my hair and staring wide eyed at the curtain over my door. "Y-yeah!" my voice shook against my will so I forced it to settle. "I'l-I'll be there in a minute, Dad."

I got out of bed, having to wipe another stream of tears as I pulled open my bedside table and got out my clothes, hurting all over from the grief I was causing myself.

God. All of it. It was making me so fucking depressed.

It was crushing me.

But, I guess that's why they call it a crush, huh?

But I had to ignore it. I had to pretend nothing was wrong or bothering or hurting me. I was good at that. Ever since Mom died I had become a master at disguising my emotions from everyone. Even Dad. He had no idea what was going on in my head. Shit, not even I did.

So I dressed myself, luckily, distraught and miserable enough that any hardness from earlier had gone... (lucky, huh?) and went and Played Farmer.

Farmer Carl, like Farmer Rick.

_Be what I am expected to be,_ I told myself over and over, _Be __**who **__I'm expected to be._

_No more kids stuff._

_~ Late Morning ~_

I wandered up to the outdoor cafeteria, picking the dirt and weeds from my finger nails as I went. Dad veered off to C-Block to get Judith, and like usual, I slipped into the kitchen area and took a seat behind the counter, not saying a word as I grabbed myself some duck and vegetables.

I wasn't supposed to do this, as I was supposed to eat my food with everyone else at the benches. But it wasn't an official rule made by The Council or anything, and Carol or Oliver or Patrick never told me to leave. Also, the only people I sat with were the people from my original group and Patrick and Oliver, and none of my original group were there yet. Maggie was on guard, Dad was getting Judith, Carol was cooking, Daryl and Glenn were out on a run, Hershel was tending to Violet and Michonne was still out on her run looking for The Governor. Though, Beth was actually over at a bench, but she was with Zach and I felt weird butting in on their couple-morning together.

So I just went ahead and ate on the kitchen deck. Oliver and Patrick going about doing their chores, helping out with Carol like usual.

"Morning, man," Oliver said to me, leaning on the counter beside me, his arm unintentionally skimming my shoulder as he served a plate to an old man from D-Block, and I tried not to think about the tingles that ran from Oliver's contact and then shot through my spine.

"Hey," I mumbled, taking another bite of my breakfast.

"I finished the Superman volume last night, I'll bring it back to your cell after chores."

"Cool," I nodded, glancing at him. "What did you think of it?"

"Awesome, as usual," he cocked his brow as if that was a dumb question, grinning as he served Mika her breakfast. Then he held my gaze and a smirk grew into his grin, leaning a little closer for emphasis. "But I was still kinda disappointed that Wolverine didn't run Superman a bath of liquid kryptonite."

I laughed, "My gosh. Can't believe you still remember that."

"How could I forget?"

I grinned, realising too late that I was staring. So I quickly straightened my face and looked back at my food, too self conscious to realise that Oliver had been staring right back.

He grabbed a plate and took a seat on the stool beside me, beginning his own breakfast now that everyone was eating. Patrick came over too, starting his own meal on my other side.

"You look like you slept in a barn all night," the older youth told me in jest, glancing at my hair.

I guessed I had some hay or straw in it from mucking out Flame's shelter, as I had been getting it ready for whenever Michonne finally returned.

I held in my scoff, "Mornin' to you too, Patrick."

Oliver chuckled, leaning over and carefully pulling out the pieces of straw stuck in my fringe, holding them in front of me and grinning, before tossing them over the counter onto the gravel.

"Thanks," I said, again, having to ignore the butterflies, "uh, Playing Farmer... it, uh, it gets pretty mucky sometimes."

Patrick chuckled, but Oliver exchanged a glance with me, knowing that even though I said it jokingly I wasn't really happy about it. I'd realised that he knew _Playing Farmer _was frustrating to me. I'm not sure how he did. I'd never told him with words. He just... figured it out. Sometimes it annoyed me how well he seemed to know me. All of those emotions and hidden irritations that I did so well disguising from other people just didn't seem to work as well with Oliver. Though frankly, I was just relieved that he couldn't _really_ read my mind - see the thoughts and images still whirring through my imagination... Otherwise... I didn't know what he would do.

That thought alone sent me back to eating my breakfast in silence as Patrick and Oliver talked a little together, mostly bickering about their cell.

Oliver, I had come to realise, liked to live in a neat environment, often the objects on his bedside table were symmetrical and ordered neatly, and his bed was always made. But Patrick, on the other hand, didn't put nearly as much care into his lifestyle, and this caused a clash between the two when it came to living in the same cell together. Usually it ended up in me helping Oliver tidy before he could stand sitting back and reading his comics or enjoying himself. Luckily, the brothers never really had any bad arguments. Their five-month separation was enough to prove to them how much they really appreciated each other.

"Come on, Pat. It's not hard to put away a pair of socks every now and then," Oliver grumbled as he took a bite of his cabbage.

"No, it's not. But it's also easier to just leave them on the floor for when I need them next," Patrick told his little brother, knowing full well that he was pressing his buttons, and enjoying it.

Oliver almost growled his sigh, "You're such a douche sometimes. I swear you do it just to annoy me."

Patrick didn't even try to deny it. "Yup. It's funny watching the vein in your temple _bulge_."

"Jerk."

Patrick giggled under his breath, and I tried hard not to find them amusing, fighting my smile as I forked at my food.

But Oliver noticed and glared at me, elbowing me in the ribcage.

"Ow!" I jolted, almost falling off of my stool, "I didn't do anything!"

"I can hear you laughing in my head."

I scoffed, rubbing my side and almost wondering if it was true. "You've lost it, Oliver."

Oliver smirked. "I'd lost it a long time ago, man."

"I'll say." I didn't even realise I had a ridiculous grin on my face.

I spotted my father making his way over to us, my little sister rested comfortably on his hip. Oliver got up and served a plate for him, handing it over when he got to the serving counter.

"Mornin', boys," Dad said to them.

"Morning, Sir," they said in unison.

"Thank you," Dad said to Oliver as he took the plate and went to turn around. But he double took, noticing me sat behind the counter on the wrong side of the kitchen area. "Uh, son?"

"Hm?" I was still grinning like an imbecile.

He dipped his head slightly, glancing between Carol and I. "Aren't you supposed to be eating at the benches with everyone else? 'Stead 'o getting' in their way?"

My expression dropped. "I-I, uh. I'm not. I-I wasn't."

"He's not in our way," Oliver said.

"He's not causing any trouble," Carol said, wiping her hands on a dish cloth and giving Dad a sincere look.

Dad cocked a brow, but he nodded, "Alright. See you later," he relented, turning and going to eat with a man I knew was called David and lived in my cell block, but I didn't know anything other than that about him.

Oliver sat beside me again, wolfing down his breakfast. He really wasn't good at table manners. Though, I was grinning again.

"You wanna go to the library later?" he asked me.

I looked away from him, suddenly realising that of course he could see me grinning at him and that I was an idiot for thinking otherwise just because he wasn't looking right at me. "Yeah," I said. But then I frowned and glanced at him again. "Wait. Not if it's for Story Time though."

He shook his head and met my eyes, "No, just you and me-" I really tried not to love that idea. "-and Patrick too, if you wan't?" he glanced at his brother, and I then tried to ignore the strange sense of disappointment nagging in my chest. But I like Patrick. Of course I wanted him to come along too... I just liked the idea of Oliver and I going alone a little more... But I wasn't supposed to, so I pushed my lips into a smile.

"Yeah, you wanna come with us?" I added.

Patrick shook his head. "I've read so much my eyes are gonna fall out. I'm good. I'm probably just gonna go play some soccer with the others."

"Okay," Oliver said simply, continuing his breakfast.

I was sure one of them would hear my heart pounding.

_~ Afternoon ~_

I had to get a few things done with Violet and the piglets before I was relieved of my duties. Oliver gave me a hand in checking all of the babies over. And he found it funny how much I liked Violet, though, he didn't say no to scratching between her ears the way she liked.

"Is that..." Oliver paused, listening carefully like a hound dog that had smelt a fox, "a car?"

All I could hear were the clusters of walkers. So many of them now that the fence had been jolting and bending inward for weeks.

"Can you hear it?"

I shook my head, patting Violet's back, and she grunted at me a little.

"No. No, I can hear a car."

We stood up, looking around to the road.

"I don't see-"

"They're back!" Maggie suddenly yelled from the guard tower above. "Someone open the gates!"

There was no one near the front gates, as all the fence cleaners were too busy drilling through a cluster that had begun over crowding at one point of the fence. Oliver and I shot out of the paddock, me slightly behind because I had to close it up again. But we ran. We ran faster than our legs could carry us, and then once we got to the gate operators we both took either side, putting our whole body weight against the ropes and chains to pull the stubborn gates open.

I could hear the truck now. And I could see the silver vehicle, making out the dark figures of Daryl and Glenn inside.

They drove through, and Oliver and I shut the gates again before a walker could get in.

"They brought someone back," Oliver tells me, noticing the stowaway inside the back of the truck.

He was a dirty, roughed up, middle aged, black guy with a messy moustache that was growing in odd lengths from months without a razor. Slim, tired-looking and he wore a ripped plaid jacket and had a machete rested on his lap.

"Another stray," I mumbled.

He smirked at me. "I was a _stray._"

I smiled, "I know. And look what happened."

He pushed my shoulder, taking it as a joke.

But I meant it. Look at what had happened. Oliver, the stray, who I had found The Prison the same way as that man just had. Oliver who I developed feeling for. Who had captivated me before I even knew his last name. Still didn't know! Oliver who lived in my dreams and took up my every thought and action. Oliver who saw through every wall I tried so hard to put up against him, and who still wanted to be my friend.

God, what had he done to me?

We went into the main building, catching a glimpse of the stranger as he spoke to my father and The Council before we disappeared through the doors and made for the library.

_~ Later ~_

My stomach growled just as Stanley Yelnats finished digging his first hole in the middle of the dessert, he was panting and sweating and sure that he was dying from the relentless heat.

I was reading _Holes _by Louis Sachar.

"Hungry?" Oliver asked, smirking as he looked over his _Ender's Game _novel.

"No," I lied. I'm not really sure why. I guess it was because to be hungry was like saying I didn't like wearing dirty, itchy clothes. I just had to deal with it. And plus, I didn't particularly want to be forced to socialise (even if it would only be a nod or a wave) with that new guy, because I knew, being my father's son, I was expected to.

Oliver breathed a chuckle as he slid off of the table he was sat on, me slumped in the chair beside him. "Come on. Supper's probably ready by now," he said anyway, leaving his book open on the page he was on.

"I'm fine. We should wait until everyone else is done eating."

"Carl. The noises your stomach's been making for the past hour is making it impossible to concentrate. Come eat."

"I'm not hungry yet. I wanna read."

"You're hungry, man. We both are."

"I'm fine."

"Carl..." he moaned. "Why are you being so freaking stubborn?"

"I'm not. I jus', wanna keep reading."

Oliver paused, watching me inquisitively for a moment. "It's because of that new guy, isn't it?"

"No." Damn it. How the fuck?

Oliver bit his lip, and even though my head was aimed at my book, my eyes wouldn't tear away from him, watching as the blood under his teeth built where he was putting pressure, and then as it lingered and slowly dispersed into the rest of his skin when he released it.

I looked away.

"I'll make an excuse for you to leave so you won't have to say much to him."

I held his gaze then, wondering if he was serious.

"I will. And if they don't take the bait... I'll... I'll fake an asthma attack and ask you to take me to the infirmary... Sound good."

"Oh my God," I shook my head and chuckled, still not getting up, though, not refusing either.

That's when Oliver put his hands in his pockets and swayed slightly on the spot. "You know..." he sang, "I bet there'll be _corn_."

I rolled my eyes, closing my book and exasperatedly resting it on my stomach.

He smiled. "_Lots o' corn_."

I grinned then, surprised when he put on my accent.

"Come on, Carl. You know you want to, man... you don't have to pretend with me."

There. He did it again. That _seeing through my front _thing. I left my book on the table, standing up and blushing as I walked past him.

He smiled, and I figured that his pupils were only dilating because of the dimming natural light falling over Georgia.

_~ Late Evening ~_

So, I didn't have to talk too much to the man, who introduced himself as Bob Stookie. But I did have to sit through all of supper in the cafeteria, listening to Carol, Daryl, Glenn, Sasha and Hershel give a longer than necessary announcement, so -neglecting the fake asthma attack method- even Oliver had to stay. The Council said about the part of the prison that had recently been cleared. Saying that it had been cleaned fully and was available to everyone now. Though, what everybody didn't know is that Oliver and I had already been in there and had a look around. That was the day we fixed the roof... the day we heard the radio... the day Oliver kissed my forehead...

I was doing it again.

In the middle of the cafeteria surrounded by people, I was thinking about those things I shouldn't have been thinking about, and I got butterflies as I found myself glancing at Oliver sat opposite me, wondering what it would be like to pull of that beanie and run my hand through his hair. But I shook my head, scolding myself as I forced my focus onto The Council again.

Finally, we were allowed to leave.

Oliver and I went straight back to the library.

I grabbed my book immediately.

Oliver scoffed, "How can a book about a kid digging holes be so interesting?"

"It's not just about him digging," I answered, frowning slightly. "There's this pair of shoes, and he gets arrested because they think he stole them. So he goes to jail, but it's not a jail, it's a dessert institution to build character. There's a load of other characters, and a mystery, and a load of plot twists and... uh, you, umh, y-you don't care... do you?"

Oliver frowned. "Yes. It sounds good actually."

"You look bored."

"It's my face, Grimes."

"Oh, right... so sarcastic. Like always." That was what confused me the most about Oliver. Sometimes I couldn't tell if what he was saying to me was genuine. Or if he was just making a joke that only he found funny.

He grinned. "How does it end?"

"I dunno. I haven't finished it. _You_ keep talking to me."

"Screw you. Sorry for tryina make conversation."

"Since when has conversation been important to you?"

Oliver laughs. "Never. _I just like the sound of your voice_." Again with the sarcasm.

I smiled, because that very fact was why we liked each other's company so much. Not the sound of each other's voice... not that I didn't like the sound of his voice, or, well, whatever - what I mean is, we didn't have to talk much or entertain each other to have a nice time together. It was just nice being there.

So we carried on reading for a while.

The only noise interrupting the warm, still library being the occasional turn of a page or a quiet chuckle or sigh from one of us. Like two, stereotypical, old men reading the newspaper together.

Right up until my dad came to look for us.

"Oh, there you both are."

"Hey," I said.

"Patrick was looking for you, Oliver."

"Okay, Sir."

"Carl, you coming back to your cell soon? I'm gonna put Judy down now."

"Yeah," I said, getting up and following him out. "See you tomorrow, Oliver."

D-Block was the opposite way to C-Block, otherwise we would have walked back with him.

"Night, man."

Dad and I got back to my cell block, saying goodnight to Carol and Beth and everyone else I came across, then saying goodnight to my sister, kissing her forehead letting her grip my thumb for a moment until she decided she was bored of me.

"Night, son," Dad said to me just as I was about to leave.

"Night, Dad."

"I'm glad you've got friends like Oliver and Patrick."

He'd said it so suddenly and factually that it kind of caught me off guard.

I nodded, "Me, too."

"You're doing good, Carl. I wanted you to know that."

_Good enough to get my gun back, Dad? _I wanted to say. But a short "Thanks," was what I did say, leaving his cell without another word.

_~ Late night ~_

I couldn't sleep.

I knew what would happen if I did.

So I was going to read instead.

Though it was as I turned over to grab the novel I usually left on my beside table, that I realised that I'd left it in the damn library.

"Damn it."

But I figured, the walk would do me good. Maybe tire me out a little. So I crept out of bed, dressing into my jeans and boots, though, leaving my pyjama top on. The cell block was quiet, but not silent, so it was easy enough to sneak out and slowly edge the door closed again behind me.

I was aiming for the library, but then I realised that Oliver had left after me. So I wondered maybe if he had taken my book and hoped to give it back to me tomorrow.

So I changed my course to Oliver's block.

I quietly went in, tip toeing towards Oliver's cell, hearing the faint snoring coming from other people's cells as well.

I got to their cell, carefully pulling the curtain back and peering inside. But Oliver's bed was empty. I could hear Patrick though, snoring softly away on his top bunk.

I looked over on the bedside table, but neither my nor Oliver's book was there.

The bathroom and shower room was empty too. No Oliver anywhere...

So I made my way to the library, almost sure he wouldn't be there and trying not to worry for a reason I didn't want to admit. Having gut lurching images of Oliver leaving The Prison, which I knew was impossible, as he would never leave his brother here. But I still worried.

But I heard a cough, and then the spray of an inhaler.

I smiled, so broadly that I had to wait a minute to stop and settle myself.

I snuck in, quietly creeping closer and closer to him. So close that I could reach out and touch him, and I was going to, I was going to poke his neck and whisper something that I hadn't thought of yet to scare him. Immature I know, but for some reason I didn't care... for some reason, all I wanted to be was a kid for a moment.

"If you're trying to sneak up on me, Carl, you might wanna stop breathing."

"Gyah!" I startled so badly that it was me who leapt three feet backwards, not him like I had intended.

He laughed, turning in his chair to watch me stumble backwards.

"Jesus, Oliver!" I gasped, panting and blushing and adrenaline fuelled. "How the hell?"

Oliver kept laughing, doing his best to stifle the noise in fear that people would hear it in the night.

I frowned at him, with a sore butt and a burning cheeks.

"Ah, your face," Oliver doubled over laughing.

"Shut up," I grumbled as I stood up. "What're you even doing in here."

"Having a couple hours to myself."

I narrowed my eyes curiously, "Did you get my book? I left it in here earlier."

He nodded, rummaging through the pile of books and notes he had on the table in front of him. "Here. I read a little - it's kinda good."

"Yeah, I like it." I thumbed at the spine.

"I was sorting through books I've read and ones I wanna read next, but-"

"Wait," I interrupted, "are you gonna take them all back to your cell?"

"No." I knew he was lying. I could tell by the twitch in his eyebrow and the sudden sharpness of his voice. I wasn't sure where he kept his book stash, but I had seen Oliver take a lot more books into his cell than he took back out. But I didn't press.

"But what?" I asked, reminding him of his previous sentence that I had interrupted.

"Oh, yeah, but I've, uh, I've kinda given myself about a hundred paper cuts skimming through all the pages."

I chuckled, "It's because you've got soft hands." I knew that only because I'd remembered his touch on either side of my temples that day he kissed my forehead.

Oliver smirked, taking a look of his palms for himself.

"See," I said, taking a seat on the table in front of him, propping my legs up on the chair beside him.

He held them out to me, and for a moment I wondered if he was serious. But he didn't pull away, so I hesitantly took them, holding them gently in front of me near my knees. His hands were warm, and smooth and so soft. He still had a little bit of roughness, and small calluses mostly on his right hand with all the machete defence over the time he had it.

"Yeah, uh, see...?" I brought myself back to focus, tracing the groove of his thumb, and then lightly touching the places he had given himself the small paper cuts on the ends of some of his fingers.

Oliver shivered. But he was only in his short sleeve pyjama top and he wasn't wearing shoes. So I thought he was just cold.

"Softer than mine," I added quietly.

Then I opened the hand I was using to touch him, showing him the dry, excessively callused skin on my palm from all of that farm work I'd been doing over the past seven months.

But I didn't give his hands back. Nor did he pull them away. He just watched me curiously, tentatively... as if he was trying to figure something out... as if he was trying to figure _me_ out.

I was about to let go, pushing those thoughts out of my mind for what had to be the thousandth time that day. But Oliver spoke before I could, leaning forward slightly, and at the same time he was gently pushing his hands closer to me so that the back of his wrists pressed on my knees.

"This scar," he said, pointing at the heel of his palm closest to his thumb, and I saw the thin, whine line across his skin. "This was when I cut my palm at Penelope's once, we were making salad for Independence Day."

I giggled my reply, like a silly, love struck school girl. "You idiot."

"Yeah," he grinned, and I couldn't help but think of how warm he was against my knee caps.

I wanted him to...

No, never mind.

"I bet if it was you it wouldn't've even made a scratch," Oliver said after a moment. "With all those walls you've put up inside, nothing gets through to hurt you, huh?"

Fuck. He did it again.

He just stared for a long moment after that, his eyes burrowing into mine and exploring parts of my mind that I suddenly wanted him to see... that I wanted him to know about.

"I..." I wanted to kiss him. God damn it, I wanted to kiss him so bad it hurt.

But I made myself suppress it, turning my spine into rock to stop it from lurching forward, and forcing myself not to say what I wanted him to know so desperately.

"What?" I said instead, though my voice was shrill and tense and shaking, ready to burst with something I didn't understand, but it was building inside of me, that _thing_... Like a bubble made of steel.

"Don't think I haven't noticed. _Playing Farmer. _I know it pisses you off and I know you only do it for your dad."

"What are you...?" I thought I would finish my sentence... but that was my question. I wanted to know what the hell he was... what kind of creature so mysterious and strange and intuitive he was to have the power to do all of this to me, how he so easily got into my head like that, how, just by being around me, he made me want to smile for days. But I couldn't say any of that. I couldn't say anything.

"Why don't you just tell him?" Oliver asked, not realising the extent of my question and so answering with his own.

I had to swallow the back hole into my stomach, forcing it down and away like always. "He already knows."

He kept looking at me, and I knew he wanted to ask me why my father was so over protective, why he felt it was necessary to shield me like he was and what I had done to deserve it.

"It doesn't matter," I mumbled.

Oliver sighed, his hand twitching in mine slightly and by reflex I withdrew from it, letting him drop his hands from my knees.

Almost immediately... I missed them.

"Okay," he smiled. "Well, I'm here to talk to if you ever decide it does matter. Or, if you want a pair of hands to play with."

"Shut up!" I said in outrage, "I wasn't playing with 'em!"

"I was kidding, sap..." Then he grinned, madly. "Did feel nice though."

Oliver's fucking sarcasm. I couldn't tell if he was kidding, again!

I tried to stop my expression from tensing or widening or contorting, I couldn't tell anything, I couldn't make sense of any of it. "I should, p-probably get back to my cell before anyone realises I'm gone."

Oliver nodded and smiled. That crooked, slightly over-bitten smile that I'd fallen for.

"Are, uh..." _Focus. _"Are you goin' back too?"

"No. Pat won't wake up until the morning... and, no one ever notices when I go."

"You've snuck out before?"

He smiled. "Where did you think all the bean bags came from?"

"Well, I dunno," I said defensively. "What so, you went and found them or something?"

He nodded. "Yeah, found them in the wreck room we were in that day we found the music room. The first wreck room we found, by the sewing machines; a load of these bean bags were in there so I just took them. Brought them back here."

I had a ridiculous grin on my face. "You did this alone? In the middle of the night?"

Oliver nodded, not realising how peculiar that was. "Yeah, it wasn't difficult. I had to do tougher stuff before Daryl and Michonne found me."

I hadn't considered that... or rather, overlooked it. "Must've been tough. Five months."

"It was okay. I'm here now."

I'd never been on my own. Never. Sure, I'd snuck out and gotten myself into trouble more than once. But I'd never had no where to go back to. No family to find again and be with. I couldn't imagine how alone Oliver must have felt.

"See you in the morning?"

I nodded, bringing my thoughts back to focus. "Yeah. I've only gotta tend to Violet and the piglets. Dad and Hershel're gonna take over the garden tomorrow, so I should be back before you wake up. Come by before your chores and we'll read comics for a little while."

"Sounds good," Oliver said.

So I left the library, clutching my _Holes _book in my hand. But now, all I could feel was the warmth of Oliver's hand, like a ghost lingering over my skin. Haunting my memory.

I tried not to.

But I liked it.

**Notes**

That dream, though! Haha

Hope y'all enjoyed :)

I really enjoyed writing Carl's break down after he woke up, it was strange seeing him on his own dealing with his confusions when he didn't have anyone there for a moment to put up his front to.

Tell me what you thought.

As always,

Happy reading xx :_)_


	11. School's Out And I'm Stuck In A Locker

**inazumahunter **Awww! Thank you so much!

**Guest** Ahh! God, thank you! I fixed it now, thank you!

**Now, before you read this, I know I have made quite a strange plot hole in making this chapter. In terms of what you have read on my other story. But I went with it anyway. **

**Okay, I'm done now. X**

_A month before The Outbreak. Oliver's last day of 7th_ _Grade_  
><em>Oliver is thirteen-years-old.<em>  
><em>Middle of June.<em>

Daydreaming was a common occurrence in school for me. For most I suppose.  
>Mrs. Leroy, my Math teacher, was droning on about Pythagoras Theorem while the rest of the class tried not to fall asleep or cry from boredom, bar a few kids who were furiously scribbling away in their text books, either taking notes or doodling, I wasn't sure, and quite frankly, I was way too engrossed in watching the hem of Mrs. Leroy's skirt to care.<p>

Don't jump to conclusions.

I wasn't checking the little old lady out.

I was just at that extreme level of agonising boredom that I couldn't tare my eyes away from the bland, grey, frilly fabric as it swayed over her thighs whenever she moved. It was definitely more interesting to look at than the white board she was writing all over, with squares and triangles plopped all over the place as if it had been drawn there by a five-year-old.

My chin was rested on my forearms across the desk, my eyes drooping as my lazy gaze followed the skirt with the teacher's every step or shift of weight, until my head suddenly jolted forwards with a painful jab to the back of my skull.

"Ack!" I hissed, rubbing the back of my head and frowning as I glanced around to the idiotic culprit.

Mikey Blake.

He grinned devilishly at me, holding the wooden ruler that he'd just used to prod me with. "Sorry, fag, I meant to shove it up your ass," he whispered horribly. Unlike the year before at the play, Mikey had learnt what the word faggot was supposed to mean, and for no reason that I had ever given him, it had stuck on me. Like a leech.

I grimaced, turning back to rest my chin on my arms again.

But it wasn't even ten seconds later that he did it again.

"Cut it out," I hissed at him over my shoulder.

"Oliver!" Mrs. Leroy snapped.

Mikey slunk into his chair behind me, and I span around to look at her.

"I'll send you out if you're going to disrupt the class any more," she told me sternly.

I didn't even try to argue my case, knowing that if I did she would only get more mad at me, and then after class Mikey would only kick my ass anyway.

"Sorry, Ma'am," I mumbled, sinking into my seat and uncomfortably scratching at the throbbing pain in the back of my head.

Eventually, the last hour of Hell finally came to a merciful end at the school bell, followed by an excitable chorus of sighs and "_Yes!_"s from the students_._

It was the last day of the school year. So everyone was ecstatic to get started on their Summer break. Which for me meant hanging out with Penelope, avoiding Mikey and his posse, helping Mom with chores (not talking about Dad around her at all) playing video games and reading, a lot.

"Alright, class dismissed," Mrs. Leroy granted, looking over her spectacles as we all scrambled to grab and collect all of our things.

I heard Mikey mutter something behind me, though, the only words I made out was 'dead meat' and 'faggot for breakfast'... whatever the hell he had planned (as, by the sounds of it, it was stupid and painful and humiliating) I didn't want to be involved, at all.

But it was hardly like he would give me a choice.

I'd said I would meet Penelope out by the bike shelter so that we could go dump our school stuff at her house and then go straight down to The Creek, but I had to go to my locker first to grab my gym stuff.

My locker was over in the Art department, locker _116_ _C._

I hated where it was. It was always the first place the janitors cleaned, as it was usually covered in paint and other such spilly, smudgy art things, so it would always be empty and barren at the end of the day, though, I did like how the walls were filled with abstract art that the students had done, the way the colours stood out, and there were one or two strange students creative enough to do some stuff that were pretty brilliantly disturbing. Like one picture of a man with his eyes hanging out and another with a baby holding a juice cup... only the baby's head was exploding, with colours of ever spectrum erupting like a volcano out of it's neck.

I had checked over my shoulder before I went in, seeing no Mikey anywhere, so, the fool I was, I assumed I was safe.

I strolled down the hallways, looking over the art and keeping my pace quick, though, not in any particular rush because I knew Penelope would wait for me.

There were only about twenty lockers in that part of the school, so to get to it wasn't any particular task, so I got to my locker and turned the dial to unlock it, grabbing my gym bag and collecting a few random junk that had managed to build up at the bottom over the year.

But that was when I heard the four of them.

I just tried to get on my way, rushing to collect all of my text books and notes and pens, and panicking inside as they got closer, like hungry, blood-thirsty predators.

But they got too close, and I knew I was in shit if I didn't do something, so, like a spooked bird, I dropped everything I had and ran for it, not even closing my locker up again.

But I wasn't fast enough.

"Hey!" Mikey grabbed around my middle, "Where you going, fag?"

I squirmed in his grip, grunting as he dumped me back on to the ground to face them all. I stumbled slightly, but stayed on my feet as him and his other three friends Nick, Ben and Louis all surrounded me like a pack of wolves, herding me to stand with my back against the row of lockers.

"Mikey," I sounded tired. This certainly wasn't the first time he and his friends had cornered me like this, "come on. It's the last day. Can we just go home?"

"You telling me what to do, freak?"

"No," I blurted submissively, a sudden rush of adrenaline reminding me how short tempered Mikey was, "no, I just... I just don't wanna do this today."

He shook his head and stepped closer, "That's exactly why we _are_ gonna do this today."

I winced, panting and unable to calm my hammering heart. But I tried to just walk past them, "Mikey, no. Just leave it today, alr-"

But then, before I even had time to react of reflex, his knee collided with my groin.

I made no noise.

I just doubled over, agony rippling through every part of my body, and then, a moment later as my ears filled with their horrible laughter, I slowly dropped to my knees, clutching between my legs and sure my eyes would pop out of their sockets.

The pain, it tore through my spine, moving outward like a plague, and my mind blurred over as it tried to shut it all out.

"I told you, faggot. I'm the one making the rules, you don't get to tell me what to do."

I had no answer, all I wanted was to curl up in a ball and die. But I couldn't do that. So I closed my eyes, wincing badly and forcing my rigid neck to nod to him, to obey him, and letting out a grunt of pain as I did.

"Good," Mikey praised.

I hated him.

He'd never done anything like that. Ever. His bullying consisted mostly of shoves as he walked past me, hurtful words and sometimes a slap across the face or on the back or the stomach. I could handle them. But that. What he'd just done...

That was too far. That was cruel.

Regardless, he slapped my spine anyway as well, laughing as he watched me shrivel from the agony that simply wouldn't go away, so bad that I was sweating and gasping from it, and the other three minions laughed along with him.

"Got anything for me today, De Loser?"

It was regular routine for them to take either all or whatever was left of my lunch money. How stereotypical, huh? If not that, they would do something else to humiliate me as punishment.

But that day, Mikey and the others seemed to have no boundaries.

I pointed to my rucksack over by my locker where I had left it, "I've, agh," I winced before I could finish, the small shift I'd made with my legs to move sending a shooting agony through to my screaming crotch again. "I've got, a-a few dollars left."

"Good."

Then I was being shoved to my feet, pushed to walk with them over to my locker a few meters away.

"You've got a dollar and three quarters," Mikey criticized.

I didn't say anything. Wincing and still aching everywhere, so I was in no mood to explain myself for something that wasn't even my fault.

"Hey!" he barked, his blonde hair whipping around his face as he glared at me. "I'm talking to you, retard."

"Answer him," Ben ordered as he thumped me in the ribs.

I yelped, wincing as I brought my eyes to Mikey again, "I'm sorry."

He shrugged, "Whatever, I'll just have something else," he said, rummaging around in my rucksack for a moment, eventually picking out a small, light green notebook.

"Wait, no!" I barked suddenly, lurching forward only to be restrained by Ben.

Mikey almost startled, but a grin creped over his mouth. "What's the matter, pussy? This your _diary_? I bet there's a list of all the guys in school you wanna bone in it. I better not be in it or you're dead."

"No, no. Please? Mikey, it's not mine!" I begged, "Please? Not that. I've got a comic in there instead. But not that. Damn it, get off me! Fuck, it's not mine!" I was struggling against Ben's grip on my arms behind my back, but he was huge, there was no way I was getting away from him.

The notebook was Penelope's. She had given it to me a few days ago to read as it had a few of her stories in there that she had written. The trouble was, she was very secretive about her writing. She let me read all of her stuff, but it had taken me months in the beginning of our friendship to convince her to just let me read one paragraph, so now, me letting Mikey get his hands on it... she'd never forgive me!

I tried to grab it out of Mikey's hands, taking a leap of faith and lunging forward at him as he flipped through pages of Penelope's imagination.

But Louis shoved me just as I slipped out of Ben's arms, and I slammed into the lino floor with a loud grunt. But I pushed myself up, fight-or-flight kicking in, only, on this rare occasion, fight was what overtook me.

I shoved Louis back, and then swivelled around and threw my hand out at Mikey's face, which kind of just ended up with me roughly palming his face and pushing him away. I wasn't a good fighter... maybe I should have flown instead.

"The fuck is wrong with you!?" Mikey growled at me, easily dodging my next hit and managing to grab around my middle like he did before.

Only, this time, he didn't make me stand up properly again and look at them all. No, this time my feet left the floor completely, and he threw me down, pinning me there with a knee on either side on my ribs, grimacing as he patronisingly slapped my face and then pushed my jaw up so that I couldn't even open my mouth to scream at him.

"I told you! You. Don't. Get. To tell ME. What. To do!"

I struggled under him, blindly clawing at anything I got my hands on, which was only his shoulders and chest, "Geh hff!" I tried to shout at him, but the pressure on my jaw was unbearable, so I just tried not to let him break my neck.

"You probably like this, don't you, queer!?" he goaded stupidly. "Fucking disgusting! Don't think I didn't see you checking my ass out in gym today!"

That wasn't true. At all. I didn't find Mikey (or any of them) attractive in the slightest, they were mean and obnoxious and cruel. I had never given them any reason to assume my sexually, at all. It was because my only friend was a girl, and the fact that she was pretty and single and after years of being friends we still weren't at all dating, it made kids just assumed that I didn't like girls at all like that. Which also wasn't true. But there was that stereotypical, incorrect stigma about homosexual people that Mikey decided to shove on me, and so he always assumed that I was automatically attracted to every male in the damn world.

I was so angry.

Tears were welling in my eyes and my cheeks were red, and I was fighting against him. But Mikey was stronger, bigger, despite him being several months younger than me. So I struggled terribly.

"Gimmie a pen!" he ordered.

I wriggled under him, choking on my cries for him to stop and unable to open my eyes from scrunching them so tightly in my fear.

"Hold still," Mikey told me as he pulled up the right sleeve of my shirt, shuffling on top of me to get a better restrain on my body.

Panic.

Fuck, the panic was terrible.

That's when I felt it, something pointy - sharp maybe, and it was hard and suddenly digging into my inner forearm. I started screaming. Really screaming, and Mikey let me scream, laughing as he held me down tighter, writing onto my arm.

My face contorted as I wailed, my entire body convulsing under him as I tried desperately to get away. But then someone's hand covered my mouth to stop the noise I was making, and I kept screaming into the sweaty palm, feeling the sting as the pen drew over my skin words I never wanted to see.

Mikey was grinning, biting his tongue in his concentration, and tears streamed from my eyes and my whole face was red and furious as I stared at him in terror, "Sthhh!"

"Ha! He's crying!" Nick laughed.

"Tears of joy!" Ben shouted, "Look, and he's blushing too! He'll probably get a hard-on!"

"Eugh!" Mikey suddenly grimaced, leaping off of me like I was some disease riddled rat. "Dirty faggot!" But then he looked down towards my jeans, realising that I, obviously, wasn't at all turned-on by any of this, and he almost looked disappointed, as if he wanted me to be.

I hated him so much.

I was heaving my breath, wincing and trembling and clutching my aching jaw, scrambling to stand up, but he grabbed me again, wrenching me from the floor before I could get my balance.

"If you're gonna be such a fag, I'll put you in the damn closet."

"That doesn't even make sense!" I don't know why I said that! Why the fuck would I say that!?

I'd infuriated him, and he didn't even say anything back, he just punched me in the chest and shoved me into my locker, like the impulsive piece of shit he was.

I tried to fight against him, winded terribly and grabbing either side of my open locker, (the "closet" he was talking about) using every ounce of my strength to stop him from shutting me inside. But then the other three grabbed me, pulling my hands away from their supports and shoving me by the chest into the thin hole in the wall.

"Stop! Wait! Agh, shit! DON'T!"

But the locker door slammed in my face, the loud _CLANG_ echoing through my bones.

"Mikey, come on!"

My voice cracked in my frustration and humiliation, and I slammed my fists against the yellow metal surface, feeling the skin on my arm where he had written on me throbbing and stinging, only hoping that he hadn't cut skin. I was wheezing too, the punch to my chest and my stress induced asthma deciding to take affect at the worst time possible.

"Let me out! Please?! Let me out!"

But I heard their laughter, and then the clatter of all of my things as they threw it all across the hallway, and I saw the bottom of their feet through the gaps in the locker ventilation as they ran away.

"Fuck!" I swore, bawling my hands into my eyes and sinking down in the empty locker, trying to calm my laboured breathing.

Their footsteps faded and I heard the Art Department doors slam closed, and then there was no sound at all. Just me whimpering and wheezing and coughing and trying not to choke on my own trauma.

School was out and I was stuck in a fucking locker.

I was so guilty. Mikey had gotten away with Penelope's notebook and I knew she was going to kill me.

"Fuck," I muttered again, contorting my face as the tears stung my eyes and my airways continued to swell. I lifted my arm, trying to read what he had written on me. But it was too dark, and the lights that slithered through the ventilation gaps weren't thick enough to let me see anything other than that he hadn't broken skin, just scratched it with the pen where the black ink had marked me. But I didn't want to know what it said. So I spat on it and scrubbed it with my finger nails, scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing until I couldn't anymore because it hurt too much.

I was in deep shit.

My phone and everything else were strewn across the floor outside.

My inhaler among it all somewhere, hopefully, unless Mikey took that too.

Penelope was still waiting for me.

Her notebook was gone.

Then, to top of the massive shit I was so, very, horribly deep in, school was out.

I started panicking, in a frozen stupor, thinking that I would suffocate to death and someone would find me next semester rotten and dead in my locker...

But no. Someone had to come along. A janitor. A teacher. Someone had to realise that I was gone!

_~ A While Later ~_

"Ollie?"

I had been scratching at the rough wall of my locker for a while, but I heard her faint voice from down the hall, and my head snapped up from my turmoil, gasping from the rush of overwhelming hope exploding in me at that moment, recognising the articulate, soft voice of Penelope Rostenkowski.

"Yes!" I coughed, pulling myself up a little and slapping my palms against the metal in the cramped locker. "Yes! I'm in here!"

"Ollie?"

"Penelope," I whimpered like a baby.

"What the hell happened here?" I could hear her stepping over all of my stuff in the hallway.

"M-Mikey," I answered weakly, trying not to let my voice crack or wheeze, and unable to breath and still hurting everywhere, but... not from the physical pain anymore.

"Yeah, I saw him and his minions running out of school. That's why I came in to find you. God, I knew they'd do something like this. Assholes."

A choked sob escaped me, unable to talk anymore. I was humiliated and terrified for what I was about to have to tell her, trying to savour the last few moments of our friendship that I had inevitably just destroyed.

I heard her hand press against the door of the locker, and saw her shadow through the ventilation slices as she stood in front of it. "Ollie...?" her voice was sympathetic and soft and everything I appreciated so much from her, and it would be gone in moments. "Do you wanna tell me the code to your locker?" she suggested gently.

"Five," I coughed, sniffing and wiping my tear streaked face in the darkness, "seven, nine, four."

I heard her sigh as she twisted the dials, then the faint click that meant she had cracked it.

Light poured over me, and I stumbled out of the locker as if I had been in it for years. I spluttered, coughing on all fours as I tried to breath again.

"Inh-Inhaler."

But Penelope was already rummaged around on the floor, eventually locating the small, blue plastic in the doorway to the classroom opposite.

"Wait, where's the cartridge?"

She'd handed me an empty inhaler, the medication must have fallen out somewhere.

"I'll find it. Just try to calm down."

I nodded, my breath so loud and strained that I could feel my face turning blue.  
>My eyes clamped shut, trying to breath in through my nose and out through my mouth, which is truly difficult when one can hardly breath anyway, until I almost startled when I felt my inhaler being pushed against my lips.<p>

"Breath in, Ollie."

I did, and Penelope sprayed the Ventolin almost six times into my mouth in her worry, giving me a lot more of it that I should have taken. But I was desperate for the relief, and when I finally was granted it I leant back against the wall, panting and sweating and aching.

"Th-thank you," I got out, the bitter, freezing chemicals of the medication burning the back of my throat.

Penelope crouched in front of me, gently pressing two fingers to my cheek bone and I hissed through my teeth. She sighed, tracing around the abrasion Mikey gave me at some point in our scuffle. Then she saw my arm and gasped, heart broken as she gently lifted it and gently stroked her index finger across it to sooth the soreness.

It was swollen slightly with red, raw scratch marks covering the inside of my forearm where I had scrubbed the writing away, but it hadn't worked, Mikey had written in permanent marker. So I saw it, and somehow it hurt more than the scratches, more than when he called it me to my face.

"FAGGOT"

I started crying again, pulling my arm out of Penelope's grip and tugging the sleeve up to cover it, then tucking it up against my chest so that she wouldn't have to see it any more.

"What've they done to you?" she whispered sympathetically.

Then she was hugging me, and I only felt worse. But I was desperate for her comfort, distraught and hurting everywhere, so I selfishly hugged her back, crying like a baby into her shoulder until I trusted myself enough to pull away.

I relaxed my wince, holding her eye contact as she looked me over. "Penelope..."  
>She nodded, glancing at the forming bruise on my chin and then gently pressing her palm against it. It hurt. But it was a good kind of pain. The kind you get when you press a bruise, or pick out a splinter or scratch at a bug bite.<p>

"I have to tell you something."

"What is it?" she suddenly looked afraid, her green gaze intense and riddled with anticipation. I looked away, squirming inside. I was shaking by then too, the slight overdose of inhaler beginning to make my head swim slightly, only making my guilt worse.

"Your notebook."

That was all I had to say.

Penelope pulled away, suddenly rooting desperately around the floor through my stuff.

"No," fell through her lips, rummaging faster, scurrying across the floor on her hands and knees for the item that I knew wasn't there. "No, no, no, no... No!"

Tears were already in my eyes, but I knew that an apology would be useless.

She turned to me, her eyes filled with salty water, and the green in them shone. Her pupils were blowing and then turning to pin pricks as she stared at me in her turmoil, the skin on her cheeks turning blotchy and red with frustration.

"Get your things, Oliver."

That was all she said, and my bones turned to ice the moment she used my full first name.

I fumbled, rushing to grab and stuff all of my junk back into my backpack, slinging it and my gym bag over my shoulders. The guilt and dread stuck in my gut, and my feet squeaked on the smooth floor as I stood up and stared at her, expecting her wrath, the terrible feeling reminding me of the evening of the play... waiting for her roar.

But this time, there was no way she was going to hug me and take me to the nurse's office.

"Come on," she said curtly, though her voice trembled, and without another word she span on her heel and stormed out of the Art Department, me close on her tail feeling like a dog that had just had the scolding of its life.

"Penelope, I'm sorry." I was pleading, unable to take her silence as she led us across the playing field, the opposite way home. "I didn't mean for them to take it. I tried to stop him, I did."

"I know. And now we're gonna get it back."

I froze to the spot, my feet sticking like roots to the white marker-paint on the soccer field. "What!?"

She doubled back, grabbing my hand and forced me to keep walking. "I need it... And you're gonna help me get it."

"Penelope, you're scaring me."

"My whole mind is in that book. Only you can see it. No one else will understand. They'll..." she winced before she could end her sentence.

"What's in it?" I hadn't finished reading her notebook. I had only gotten a few pages in so far.

"Everything, Oliver. Stuff I haven't even told you about."

"Please... Please stop calling me that. You're really scaring me."

"If Mikey read some of the stuff in there," she ignored me, "I'll never be able to show my face."

"What's so bad that you haven't even shown me yet?"

"I can't tell you out loud... I-I... I can't... that's why I gave you the note book... You were supposed to read it and then I wouldn't have to tell you. You'd... You'd just know."

For a long while I stayed silent, trying to make sense of how troubled she was. Together, we climbed over the fence at the end of the playing field and then stepped down the bank to the stream that ran through all of town. The same stream that lead to The Creek.

"In your note book..." I paused, taking off my shoes and rolling up my pant legs, Penelope doing the same to prepare for crossing the water. "Has it got stuff about your dad in it?"

I'd always had a hunch that there was more to the story than 'he just left them'. Penelope didn't talk about it with anyone, except her shrink, as she'd been going to therapy for two years once a week or so. Even Tamara tensed at the man's mention. But I never insisted she spoke about it. I understood that there were some things I wasn't supposed to ask about. But at that moment I had to ask.

Penelope nodded, fighting the arch in her eyebrows and swallowing the rock in her throat. Then, without another word we crossed the stream, and just opposite was the suburb Mikey lived in.

_~ In The Suburb ~_

Mikey's house was just like every other in the suburb; moderate size, garage, square front yard with a tree or flower bed or bush in it, (his had a tree) and a safe-looking car parked outside.

Penelope and I were sat on the stretch of grass opposite that we had just walked through to get here, nonchalantly pretending that we were too caught up in ourselves to care about anything else as to not look suspicious.

She had her back against a tree, knelt down with me resting my head across her knees, leg on the grass with my legs bent at the knees.

"Should we sneak in?" she pondered.

"No, idiot!" I said, subconsciously running my thumbs over the sore scratch marks on my sleeved arm, trying not to think of the word written on me under the fabric, or how I was going to hide it from Mom and Patrick until I could get something to scrub it off with. "We're not doing anything against the law."

"Stealing is against the law and that's what we're trying to do."

"Stealing isn't stealing when the thing is yours."

She rolled her eyes, taking a steal-glance at the house again, "Doesn't look like anyone's home. There's only one car, maybe they're out in the other?"

I shook my head, "They only have the one car now. The other was Mikey's big brother's. But he moved out a few months ago. It's only Mikey and his mom now." It was amazing how much I knew about him just from listening while he whispered to his friends in classes. "Oh, and I heard his dad ran off with his yoga instructor six months ago too."

Penelope's eyes widened. "Whoa. That's awful."

I couldn't help but find it funny, only due to the fact that I hated him so much. Any misfortune that went his way I was happy for. But Penelope, who hated him just as equally as I did, still felt sorry for him.

That was Penelope.

"What if one of us just go and ask?"

"That could work. But I can't," I said truthfully. "Mikey's mom knows who I am. The school's made him apologise to me before, so she'll know something's up if I just go and ask."

"What if you tell her he stole it."

"And then have Mikey beat me up again? No way. You gotta do it. His mom doesn't know who you are. And, Mikey's had a crush on you forever, maybe if you pretended you wanted to speak to him you could steal it and then say you had to go?"

"No way! I'm not doing that! He'd know you got me to take it."

"No he wouldn't," I tried to be reassuring. "When he realises it's gone he'll either think I stole it or that he dropped it somewhere."

"And if he figures it out?"

"Come on, Penelope. Either you do this or he reads it. We don't have a choice."

There was a pause as she thought. Then, suddenly her expression widened. "Wait... Mikey's got a crush on me?"

I nodded, frowning slightly. "Yeah, and he doesn't know it's your notebook, so he had no reason to think you'd take it, other than I am your friend. But he thinks I'm still in my locker so he has no proof that you know where I am."

"But he's always so horrible to me."She still hadn't let the crush thing go.  
>I tried not to get annoyed by her distraction. "That's what boys do. We're mean if we like you. Why do you think I'm always so nice to you?"<p>

She giggled. "Yeah, but you're nice to everyone."

I smiled, taking that as a good thing. Regardless, I shook my head in denial. "I'm not nice to everyone, I'm just polite, and I don't talk. Only you get to see how much of a jerk I really am."

Penelope giggled again.

"So, are you gonna go ask? You could say you need some of his notes for a class project, and to make it even more believable you should ask where I am."

"You think I can pull it off?"

"Yeah. You're a great actress."

She smiled, but a moment later her expression became troubled again, and I sat up to look at her properly.

"What if he's read it?" she queried haggardly. "Then he'll know it's mine, and he'll know everything else."

"He's not much of a reader," I reassured her. "I'm betting he hasn't even taken it out of his bag yet. He's probably up in his room jerking-off over a picture of Fergie from that Blackeye Pea band or whatever."

"Black Eyed Peas," Penelope corrected me, then grimaced. "And that's gross!"

I chuckled. "So, will you do it?"

Penelope held my eye contact for a long time, until finally, she sighed and nodded. "Yeah... fine."

I grinned, letting out a sigh, "Gre-"

"Oh, crap. Hide!"

She suddenly pulled me behind the tree, spotting Mikey as he opened his front door across the street.

"Mikey! Where are you going?" Miss. Blake asked.

"Over Ben's house, Mom!"

"When're you gonna be home?"

"Soon! I'm just bringing back my xbox so I can play COD."

He slammed the door closed after that, and then strolled off in the direction of Ben's house that was only about five blocks away.

"Penelope, you gotta go now," I told her sternly. "He'll be back any minute, just go in, get the notebook and come back out. I'll keep watch. If he comes back I'll stall him... somehow."

"You gonna be okay?" she asked worriedly. "What if he hurts you again."

"I'll be fine," I said, not knowing if I was telling the truth or not. "Penelope. We're running out of time. Go!"

So she did.

I got up and hurried to the end of Mikey's street to keep watch, hearing as Penelope knocked on the door, and a moment later as it opened.

"Oh, hello," Miss. Blake said.

"H-hello, Ma'am."

"Can I help you, sweetie?"

"Uhm, no. I mean, yes. Yes please. I'm a friend of Mikey's, and I was wondering if I could come and get the notes I needed for a class project we're working on together."

"Oh, he just went over to his friend's house. But he'll be back soon, you can wait for him," Miss. Blake said.

"Oh, I have to be getting home soon. So I can't stay. Would it be okay if I just went and got the notes?"

"Yes, of course," Miss. Blake said, then chuckled. "I didn't know my son had a girl friend."

"Oh, no, we're not-"

"It's okay, sweetie. I was thirteen once too."

I grimaced, sure that Penelope was trying her hardest not to.

"Come in, honey. What's your name?"

"Pen-o-oppy. Uh, Poppy..."

I sighed with relief. He wouldn't know Penelope was even there, but I knew he would know I was behind this and come after me. But I was willing to make the sacrifice for what this meant to Penelope.

"What a lovely name, Poppy. I do hope he isn't leaving you to do all of the project, do get him to give you a hand."

I didn't hear any more than that, because the door shut behind them, and Penelope Rostenkowski was lost inside of Blake territory, working as a spy, undercover.

I couldn't tell if I was shaking from excitement, fear, or if I had just taken too much of my inhaler. But I was bouncing on the spot, so pumped with adrenaline I was sure I would explode from it all.

But then I spotted him, down the street, lugging an xbox 360 in his arms.

I froze to the spot. ". . . Shit!"

He hadn't spotted me yet, but he would in moments.

"Shit, shit, shit."

I looked back at the house. Penelope wasn't out yet.

My heart started hammering faster, and I winced as I knew that I was going to get beaten up. I knew he'd call me a 'stalker' or something equally as stupid. But I gritted my teeth, and walked into his view.

He tensed up instantly, and I tried to look like I wasn't trying to pick a fight, which I already knew wasn't going to be how this ended.

"What the hell're you doing here?"

"Mikey, please? I really need that noteboo-"

But he'd already put the xbox on the floor, and even though my hands were up in submission he ran at me and grabbed my collar, roughly and forcefully pinning me to the wall of the house behind me next door to his.

"Did I tell you to come out of that locker? I thought I taught you a lesson, faggot!"

"M-Mikey, come on. I'm not trying to fight. I just, _really,_ need that book. Come on, ma-"

But he shoved my shoulders harder, making the stones in the wall dig into my spine and I let out a whimpered groan.

His expression tensed so fiercely that I winced and couldn't look at him anymore.

"You stalking me?" he accused. "Did you follow me? Wasn't it enough what you got in the hallway? That not enough for you, queer?"

"No, no. Stop, man. I'm not doing anythi-!"

One, single, hissed, "Faggot," came out of his mouth... before he leant forward and collided with my face.

A noise came out of me as the back of my head hit the wall, sort of maybe if you mixed a muffled scream with a gasp, and my eyes widened in shock, staring at Mikey as he kept holding his lips to mine.

_Watthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck!_

He pulled away and glared at me, tears in his eyes, and he was panting and staring and red cheeked and looking completely distraught with himself. "Like that, faggot?" he whimpered his growl.

"What? No! Get off!" I winced in unbearable confusion. I was scared. God, he was truly terrifying me. "No! Sto-!"

I tried to pull away, but he shoved me against the wall and did it again again.

I grimaced into his lips, my feet shuffling beneath me as they tried to escape without the rest of me. But then I found purchase on his chest as his hands had loosened slightly as he accidentally let his guard down.

"Hnngtt, off!"

Adrenaline fuelled my muscles, and I used every ounce of my strength to push him away, doing it so violently that Mikey fell backwards onto his ass, and landed in a heap, sprawled across the concrete, staring wide and teary eyed up at me in befuddlement and shock and what I almost thought was guilt... or, maybe fear, though, I wasn't sure.

But fuck, I didn't stick around to find out.

I span on my heel and ran for his house, for Penelope.

To my luck and utmost relief, the moment I reached the end of Mikey's driveway Penelope emerged from the front door.

"Thank you, Samantha," she said politely, then her eyes widened as she saw me hurtling for her. "Olli-? Nyahh!"

I didn't even care that our cover was blown as I grabbed her hand from right in front of the startled woman, and Mrs. Blake yelped in shock as I roughly pulled her son's 'classmate' off of the front step and onto the road to cross the green ahead.

"Ollie, what happ-?!"

"Just run!" I yelled, not looking back, just gripping her extremity and pumped with shock and adrenaline.

So we kept running like hell, and I ignored Penelope's orders to tell me what was going on, growling at her to keep running until we got somewhere safe.

I launched off of the footpath and down to the hidden deer track, Penelope following close behind. But I didn't stop. I kept running, right until I saw the familiar, fallen tree trunk. Though, I was so out of breath that I couldn't even let out a sight of relief.

I slumped face first into the long grass bank by The Hanging Tree, wheezing and so exhausted and so dead that I didn't even care when my gym bag and rucksack flew over my head and tumbled a few feet down the deer track ahead.

Penelope was panting hard, and I heard as she grabbed my rucksack and rummaged around inside of it, a moment later stepping over to me and pulling me to roll over.

"Take your inhaler, Ollie."

I weakly sat up and took it from her hand, taking a few puffs. I coughed and winced as the medication took a moment to take affect, then, tiredly, I glancing up at her flustered, sweating face, mine exactly the same, if not worse.

She was doubled over, heaving her breath. "You okay?" she asked after a long moment, pulling her long hair pack and tying it up in a messy pony tail.

I nodded, "Yeah... we got away, Penelope... We got away."

She chuckled tiredly, slumping to her knees and flopping against me, suddenly letting out a laugh into my chest. "Yeah, we did. No one followed us."

I swallowed the bitter taste if Ventolin from my throat. "Did you... get... the notebook?"

"Yeah, it was still in his bag," she said as she pulled at the hem of her jeans, slipping the small, green notebook out from them.

"Awesome."

We led there in a crumpled, sweaty heap for a few minutes until we caught our breath.

"God, my balls are killing me," I groaned in that pained jest kind of way, the constant echo of Mikey's knee hitting my boyhood so brutally etched into my pain sensors, giving no indication that the memory would go away any time soon.

Penelope leant up, frowning. "Why?" She failed to be discreet as she glanced down at my crotch.

"Mikey kneed me in the nuts in the Art Department," I panted, though, biting my tongue before I told her what he had later done.

Penelope's eyebrows arched sympathetically. "He's such an animal."

"You got your notebook - that's all that matters."

She smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Ollie."

I smiled, sitting forward and crossing my legs. "You don't have to let me read it. Not if you don't want to anymore."

"No, I want you to," she mumbled, rolling over to lie down beside me, her ginger hair flinging outward from her head like a crown made of wavy flames, clutching the small book to her chest. "I just..." she glanced at me, her brows furrowed slightly, innocently holding my eye contact. "Can we wait a while? I'll let you read it, eventually, I promise, just, not yet... I'm not sure I'm ready, not yet."

I nodded reassuringly, "I'll wait."

"Thank you."

There was a pause.

"There actually was a picture of Fergie on his wall you know?"

"Really?" my eyebrows flew skyward. "See, I knew it! He's always talking to his friends about her."

Penelope was laughing. "Yeah, she's definitely got some, uh, _lovely lady lumps_."

I laughed. "God..." then my expression softened, worry creeping into my mind. "Mikey's gonna kill me. Either he'll find me over the Summer or he'll find me at school when we go back."

Penelope leant up and grinned devilishly at me, "No he won't..."

I furrowed my brow sceptically. "Why?"

Her grin grew.

"Penelope, what did you do?"

"I left him a note..."

I stared at her for a longer moment than would probably have been socially acceptable with anyone else. "_A note...?_"

"I know..." she said as if it was the smartest idea in the world.

"He'd've known it was you then!"

"What does it matter? He found out anyway. I saw him as we were running away."

I bit my tongue, waiting a moment to speak again. "Just tell me, what did you do?"

"Well, I found something else up there in his bedroom... And, I wrote that if he bullied you or me one more time that I would print the pictures I took of it and show everyone."

Blackmail.

My hand flew to my mouth, "What was the thing?" I asked into my palm.

Penelope drew her lips into her mouth and took out her phone, clicking a few times before finding the picture she was looking for.

She showed me.

"What-?" I grimaced in confusion. The thing in the picture was kind of long and cylindrical and cushiony-looking. "What the hell? What is that?"

Penelope blushed and palmed her face, "Ollie," she said incredulously. "It's a, uhm, a home-made... uh, you know... girl part."

My expression dropped. "No way?!" I exclaimed in amusement, kind of curiously looking again.

Penelope was trying to stifle her laughter, taking her phone back. "Yes, really... But, uh, you don't wanna know how I know for sure though." She grimaced when she said that, and I knew it was best I didn't ask.

I let out a high pitched giggle out of awkwardness. "I really hope that's not what they look like... 'cause that's pretty terrifying."

She shoved my shoulder, "No, idiot!"

I have to admit, I was relieved. Mikey's attempt at making one looked horrifying; kind of if it was taken from an alien specimen or something... and I had no idea what the female genitalia actually looked like. Other than the cartoon slides that school showed us on the day we had Sex Education a few months back. But all I remembered from the cartoon clips were when they showed us a video of a naked man chasing his female partner around the bedroom with a damned feather... so, that in itself was scarring enough.

I giggled like an idiot as I stood up, more happy than I had been in a while now that the weight of Mikey Blake might have been lifted from us forever. But then my mind traced back to what he'd done, what Penelope hadn't seen, what had left him a whimpering mess in front of me.

I felt sorry for him.

"You're not actually gonna print the pictures though, are you?"

Penelope thought about it, "No, I don't think so. Not unless he does anything else to hurt us. Did he do anything else. I heard yelling while I was in his room, and, then like I said, I thought I saw him... no I did, I saw him getting up from the side walk when we were running away. Did he hurt you?"

I shook my head.

"Why are you lying?"

I froze, pursing my lips as she narrowed here eyes criticisingly.

"You said you'd stall him... so what happened?"

I stayed silent, panicking inside. I didn't even know why. I wasn't sure if she would take what he did too badly if I told her. She would see it as harassment, and I was scared she would print the pictures for it. Mikey was a confused, violent asshole, and probably deserved the ridicule, but I didn't want to make whatever the hell was going on in his mind any more complicated than it must've already been for him. Fighting fire with fire, the phrase I read in some Shakespeare book, was a bad idea and I knew it.

"Uhm, well, I saw him, and I stalled him. Like I said. He tried to beat me up but I pushed him. And, then I grabbed you and we ran. I guess, uh, I guess he wasn't expecting it." _Neither was I._

"Whoa, nice, Ollie," she said, impressed. "Maybe we won't need the photos at all."

I tried not to hate myself for keeping something like that from her. But I knew it was for the best. I just tried not to think about the next time I would have to face him again.

"I'm too hot," I said, changing the subject, "I'm gonna take a dip. Coming?"

"I don't have a costume."

"Use my gym stuff."

She grabbed my gym bag and went behind the upturned root of The Hanging Tree to change, and I went ahead and stripped everything apart from my underwear.

"You done?"

"Ew, gross! Your top smells like something died in it," I heard her grunt as she pulled up my gym shorts.

I chuckled, "Yup, that's what stress, fear and pain smells like."

"Gym that bad for you, huh?"

"Yes."

She sneered, then emerged from behind the roots, "I'm done."

So I climbed up onto The Hanging Tree, grinning as Penelope climbed up with me, standing beside me on the trunk and wobbling slightly.

"Ready...?"

She nodded, taking my hand and poising herself to leap with me.

"Steady..."

". . . Jump!"

**Notes**

I am so bad at bully dialogue, I had no idea how to write some of the stuff Mikey was saying to him.  
><strong><br>So, just keep in mind that when Oliver and Carl once spoke of their first kisses, they didn't speak of any other kisses as well. So Oliver could have easily kissed other kids in his time since the play :)**

So, yeah :) I'm not really sure if you can count that as a kiss. I guess neither did Oliver, since he's never mentioned it haha I dunno, I just wanted there to be some deeper reason for how horrible Mikey always was to Oliver, and, having a crush on him seemed pretty legit to me (same thing happened to a friend of mine).  
>In terms of the original story, the chapter when Carl and Oliver spoke about their first kisses, it was in Carl's POV, and I never really went into any more detail about kissing in Oliver's POV view where something like this would have come up. So yeah, it happened okay :D xxx<p>

Ps. This is probably the only other kiss Oliver ever had apart from Penelope and Carl. But I don't know for sure, if it fits in with a short story in the future (past ;D) then he might kiss someone else. But I have no idea. Oliver doesn't really seem at all like the sort to kiss whoever comes along, like, at all, so I doubt it. Haha, I'll just have to see what he decides to do.

Pps. I also realise that there is a kid in Alexandria safe-zone called Mikey, too, and that he picks on Carl when they get there... uh, spoiler, sorry. But, although it would be cool, 's Mikey and my Mikey are two different characters. It was just a coincidence that I realised too late, and I almost was like "Ah well, if he does show up in the show I'll just let them be the same character" But I wont. They are two different individuals. Mikey Blake is just my OC with, coincidently, the same name.

Please leave a comment telling me of your thoughts x

As always,  
>Happy reading xx :<em>)<em>


	12. I Like Boys Too

**Guest **Thank you so much. That's sad to hear that you relate to Oliver like that. Ah, you're on the same wave length as me! ;) I can't say for definite x but I have thought a lot about it, but I won't spoil xx Thank you for commenting! X

_About three months before The Outbreak_

_Oliver is thirteen-years-old_

_April_

I liked to imagine what everyone would've said if I had just suddenly blurted it out one day. Maybe driving in the car, or while we were watching TV, or over the dinner table. Yeah, over the dinner table. That's when I would've done it.

"I like boys, too."

That's what I would have said.

Everyone would've stopped eating and stared at me, the noise of their cutlery smacking against the plates would've rung in my ears as my heartbeat racked in my chest, faster and faster with every moment.

Dad would've laughed, thinking I was kidding.

Mom would've been stunned into silence.

Patrick would've stared at me.

Penelope would've thought for a moment and then blinked, or maybe tilted her head to one side.

"You're gay?" Patrick would ask once he found his tongue, and he would be curious more than offended, but the word would still leave him as if it was something that would leave a dark stain on a white shirt.

"I'm not sure," I would've answered.

Dad would've squinted as he racked his traditional, square-set brain, rummaging through the files in there that were labelled with something that he didn't have a label to... for something that I hoped he would've realised didn't need a label at all.

"What do you mean you're not sure?" he would've probably asked.

I would've shrugged, nonchalantly taking a bite out of my chicken and ignoring the way my stomach flipped and jolted inside of me.

"Penelope, did you know about this?" Mom would've asked her quietly, and I would've tried not to look at either of them.

Penelope would've stuttered as she shook her head.

There would've been a long, awkward silence, and out of the corner of my eye I would've seen Patrick glancing from me to our parents.

"What difference does it make?" I would've wanted him to ask.

"No difference at all," is what I would've wanted Mom to say, and then a moment later for my father to agree with her.

Then I would've wanted Penelope to smile at me and take my hand, "You're still you, Oliver," I would've wished she'd have said. "We still love you."

So it would've all been okay.

But the truth was, I had no idea what any of them would say, and the sentence that had been stuck like tape to the back of my throat was threatening to break out of me and expose itself to them all as we sat around the dinner table.

So I forced it away, shovelling about three mouthfuls too much of my meal into my mouth and swallowing down into my stomach the confession that I wished didn't have to be a confession at all.

_~ After Dinner ~_

I was up in my room trying to do homework as Penelope rummaged around in my drawers for something to wear as pyjamas, since she'd forgotten hers.

"Was everything okay downstairs?" she asked after a moment.

"Hm?" I asked, not looking around as my back was to her while I sat at my desk so that I wouldn't peep on her.

"You know, at dinner? You zoned out for a while, then stuffed your face so much I thought you were gonna hurl again."

I rolled my eyes. She still hadn't let the night of the play go. "I'm fine."

"You sure? Because, you always seem to do that lately. Acting strange... Zoning out... Whatever it is you can tell me."

"I'm fine, Penelope," I insisted. "Hay, what's the scientific name for jaw bone?" I asked, frowning at my Biology homework.

"Mandible."

"Thanks," I said, then quickly scribbled it down.

"Strange, see?"

I scoffed and turned around, knowing she was done changing after hearing my drawer shut. "Says the girl wearing a pair of my boxers and my pyjama top."

"They're comfortable!"

I grinned, "They actually fit you better than I thought."

"I know. They're more comfortable that the stupid vest tops and shorts Mom buys me."

"Why don't you ask her to get you the stuff you want to wear?"

"'Cause she'd get mad and tell me I'm not supposed to wear boy clothes," she answered as she pulled on my dark red hoodie.

"But you wear my stuff all the time."

"Exactly. And she's always yelling at me for it. The other day she asked me if she needed to be worried."

I sneered, "Of course she does. You're crazy."

Penelope didn't laugh at that though like I thought she would. She just sort of looked like she was trying not to seem hurt.

I stuttered, realising she was bugged by something. "What's up?"

"Nothing," she lied, slumping back onto my bed and staring vacantly up at the ceiling.

"Acting strange... Zoning out... Whatever it is you can tell me," I mimicked what she had said before.

She grinned then, rolling her eyes as she glanced at me. "Love you, Ollie."

I chuckled and shook my head. "Sap."

Playfully offended, she shot up and grabbed me, pulling me from my desk. "Homework is boring! Let's do something else."

"Like what?" I asked, stumbling slightly.

"Have you still got that chess board?"

I nodded, crouching to grab it from under the bed. Penelope sat opposite me, crossing her legs and pulling at the sleeves of my hoodie around her wrists. I could tell that she really did like wearing my clothes. I was sure she had most of my wardrobe at her house, often Tamara would get Penelope to come round just to give them all back, only for Penelope to take them again after a few days. But I didn't really mind.

We set up the chess board.

"White or black?"

"Black," she answered. "I like how the king's missing his arm."

"That was from when Patrick and I played a while ago. It turned into a game of catch and I dropped it."

Penelope giggled as I gave her the black pieces, setting up my white, and then we began our game together, playing mostly in quiet with the occasional grumble or snort of annoyance or impress.

We played two games before Penelope brought up a subject that took me off guard a little.

"What's it like being a boy?" she asked curiously as she took out my bishop with her castle.

"Uh, what?"

"What's it like being a boy?"

I frowned as I moved my last standing knight to safety away from a particularly malicious looking pawn. "I don't know. I'm not really sure what to compare it to... Why'd you ask?"

"I was just wondering. Ben, in my class, says that it's annoying because you get boners all the time."

I snorted my laugh, "Yeah, I guess that is a down side."

"Not really, seeing as there's no _down _actually involved at all."

"Wow. That's brilliant," I laughed at her innuendo, it was fairly rare that Penelope would speak about such things.

"Thanks," she grinned. "No, but seriously. Erections aside, it must be easy standing up when you pee, and you don't have to have babies when you're older."

"You don't have to have babies when you grow up. And I'm pretty sure there's a thing girls can buy to pee standing up."

"Really?"

I chuckled as I nodded.

"Okay," she said slowly, trying to think of more things that she hated about being a girl. "But you don't get periods."

"You haven't started your period," I said factually.

"How do you know?!"

"Because you'd tell me if you did, whether I wanted to know or not."

She giggled, "That's true."

"Plus, you get boobs," I grinned. "That's gotta be good."

"I hope I won't!" she exclaimed. "And quit trying to convince me to be a girl!"

"How could I do that? You're already a girl, genius."

"What if I don't wanna be anymore?"

I chuckled again at how peculiar she was. "I don't know... Hey, Penelope, it's your turn now."

"Oh," she blurted, thinking a moment before sneakily using her bishop to take out the knight I had just tried to save.

"Oh, dammit! Stop beating me at this! Every goddamn time!"

"Grow a few brain cells then."

"My brain cells are doing just fine. You're just distracting me with all your talk."

She bit the inside of her lip, watching as I did my next move, and then playing her turn too.

"Why _are _you asking all of this though?" I asked after a while.

She shrugged. "I'm just curious. I think I'd do it better than I do as a girl. Plus it seems like a lot less trouble."

"If you were a boy you'd have to start liking girls too," I said.

"No I wouldn't. I could be a boy and still like boys – I could like girls too."

I frowned, not really sure of how to respond to that that didn't make me sound strange. So I nodded, trying to show that I agreed, but not wanting to show how much I really did agree, and I tried to say my next sentence without thinking about how much it described me. "Okay, uhm, fine. You can be a boy who likes boys and girls."

"What if I don't wanna be a boy?"

"Penelope!" I moaned exasperatedly. "What the hell?!"

She giggled, "I'm just kidding, Ollie."

I sighed in annoyance, my head kind of hurting from how confused she was making me.

Then we went back to our game, letting that whole subject go and moving on to much more pressing things, like how we were going to try to avoid Mikey tomorrow at school, and who is the greatest MARVEL Anti-Villan, and why oranges float in water when they have their skin but sink when they're peeled. The important stuff. Until eventually we got ready for be and went to sleep.

The next morning we went off to school. Penelope was still wearing my hoodie.

**Notes**

I kind of feel like if The Outbreak had never happened that Penelope would've grown up to be pretty gender fluent. She's getting more and more intriguing to me, I'm really loving writing her. :)

Hope you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a review/comment xxx

As always,

Happy reading xx :)


	13. Greene Reminders

_About three or four weeks after Oliver arrived._

_Oliver is fifteen-years-old_

_Late October_

"Hey," I said to Beth, leaning in to her cell with my hand holding the metal bar to support me.

She looked up to me, bobbing Judith on her knees. "Hey, Oliver."

I let go of the bar and stood up properly, "Rick sent me to come get Judy. Says he's done with farming and that you've been stuck with her for long enough this morning," I told her.

She smiled, thanking me as she handed the baby over.

"Thanks," I said, awkwardly cradling the baby in my arms. "Hey, Little Ass Kicker."

Judith reached up at my beanie hat greedily, only finding purchase on the ends of my hair and giggling when I jerked my head out of her reach.

"Hey, you," I warned her in jest.

The baby only laughed more. In that strange, not really laughing but laughing way of hers.

Beth chuckled, glancing away to write something into her notebook.

"You write?" I asked her, stopping before I left.

"Yeah, pretty much all the time."

For a moment, all I could think of was Penelope. I could almost see the red-dead led lazily across her bed back in Lorton, scribbling away in her precious, light green notebook. Though, the girl before me's notebook was a dark green colour, and she had blonde hair, and she was not Penelope.

"Can I read some?" I had to ask.

Beth hesitated, her brow furrowing ever-so-slightly, and then relaxing it, smiling softly. "Yeah, I guess."

"Thanks," I smiled. "I'll just go put Judy back."

She nodded, and I turned around and left to find Rick in the common room. He was talking to Tyreese, a man who I didn't particularly know very well. But I smiled at them both and politely greeted them, foolishly mistaking my confidence around them as an improvement in my social capabilities, when in fact I was just more used to them than I thought.

"Here," I handed Judith over.

"Thanks, Oliver."

With a nod, I turned back towards the cell block.

I walked past Carl's cell, vaguely assuming he was out tending to Flame, but I spotted him move out of the corner of my eye, blurting a "Oh," to him because apparently my mouth decided not to form an actual greeting.

He jumped, caught off guard. But upon realising it was only me he relaxed and pursed his lips into a small, somewhat awkward smile.

Carl and his people skills.

"Hey, man," I managed.

"Hey. What're you doing here?"

I motioned a few cells down, "Hanging out with Beth."

I'm not sure if I saw it, but I thought his mouth twitched. Only slightly, and the sudden, subtle, disappointed look on his face disappeared before I was sure it had happened. "Yeah?" he said with seemingly little to no interest.

I nodded, ridiculously trying to ignore those glowing blue eyes of his. "Yeah, I'm reading some of her stuff. You wanna join us?"

"No, I'm okay."

"Okay," I pressed my lips together and nodded, chewing on the inside of my cheek and taking his hint that he didn't particularly want to talk much to anyone today.

Carl Grimes, I came to realise, was a very introverted teenager. Some days he would be happy to spend hours with me and Patrick, reading, playing soccer or baseball, or doing something together in our cell blocks, and then other times (more often than not) he would go days without even speaking to us at all. If we tried to hang out with him, like I had done just then, he would decline and continue doing nothing by himself. I didn't mind, and I never insisted he did anything he didn't want. But it only seemed to make me think of him all the more mysterious. I... _wanted _to know him better. I wanted to get under his skin and understand how his strange mind worked, and I had been, a little. More and more each time we hung out together. Though, I'd never have the guts to actually tell him any of that.

"See you, man," I said, before leaving his cell and going to Beth's.

She had put away some clothes that were on her bed before to give me room to sit, and when I did, crossing my legs at my end of her bed opposite her, she held my gaze with a slightly excited smile on her lips, a kind of gleeful sparkle in her light blue-green eyes.

All I could think of was Penelope.

"What do you wanna read first?"

"Anything you're comfortable with, I guess."

She thought for a moment, tapping her pencil against her bottom row of teeth, then leant over the bed to grab a small stack of paper, words and scribbles all over them and ordered into a somewhat, almost, neat pile. She dropped them on the bed between us, then took a good few minutes ordering them into piles.

Finally she looked up at me, her brow risen slightly.

I grinned at her.

"What?"

"Nothing. You just... um, remind me of someone. An old friend."

She smiled, then gestured back to the paper that was now stacked into three piles. "Okay, this pile is what you can read. Jus', pick and choose. Um, obviously you don't have to read all of it, jus', you know-"

"I know," I interrupted, smirking a little for how nervous she was. "Just pick and choose."

She nodded, "Yeah. Um, and this pile you should read if you like the stuff in that pile."

I nodded, beginning to skim through the pile of literature I was allowed to pick and choose from. "So, what's the other pile?"

"Oh, well, that's the stuff that I haven't shown anyone. So, I'll jus', you know, put 'em all away."

I nodded in understanding. "What about your notebook?"

"Oh, no. No one reads what's in there."

I smiled and nodded again, "Okay, promise I wont."

She put her notebook and the pile of _forbidden _literature back under the bed and watched eagerly as I chose a poem called "Time".

"Oh, that's just a short one. Wrote it a while ago."

I smiled and started reading.

"_Time._

_It's too slow for those who wait,_

_Too swift for those who fear,_

_Too long for those who grieve,_

_Too short for those who rejoice._

_But for those who love,_

_Time is not."_

I glanced at her and let out a quiet chuckle, "I think it's great."

I didn't hesitate to rifle through more, not failing to notice the broad grin on Beth's face as I picked another short story about a young girl and her pet dog. Only, the dog was killed maliciously by her father, thrown into a river, only to survive and run back home a few days later.

"That was inspired by a friend of mine. Her Daddy killed her pet dog when she was a child, so, I don't know, I guess I wrote it for her. To gave her a happy ending... Not a lot of us get that anymore."

"That's nice," I said truthfully. "Can't believe he actually killed it though. That's awful."

"Yeah, he did it just because she snuck out once, it was her punishment. He wasn't nice. He used to scare me so much when I went over there for supper or sleepovers."

She waited a moment before speaking again.

"I could never kill someone. Not even a little dog."

I didn't say anything.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Oliver I didn't mean..."

"It's okay. Um, I've never killed someone, but, I once did have to kill a dog. She attacked me, so, you know... I had to."

"Yeah, I get it. Sorry I just forget to filter sometimes."

I shook my head and smiled, "Hand me that one?"

She reached over and handed me another short story.

Beth was self conscious about her stories, and as I would read she would sit rigidly and nervously, and occasionally blurt out something to criticize her work, only for me to reassure her that I was enjoying it and that she was a talented writer, and it was true. It surprised me how happy it made her to hear that. I had a hunch not many people read her stories like I was. Though, the avid reader I had always been, I just continued reading, and after a while Beth trusted me enough to stay in her cell and keep reading the stuff I was allowed to read while she went out and did her chores.

I got engrossed, rejoicing in her stories and just like her poem predicted, time was too short, and before I knew it it was time to go and do chores with Patrick and Carol in the cafeteria.

Beth was back by then, sat writing away in her notebook and softly singing a song to herself that I didn't recognise but loved listening to all the same. She said it was called "Be Good".

"_It's unclear now what we intend  
>We're alone in our own world<br>You don't wanna be my boyfriend  
>And I don't wanna be your girl<br>And that, that's a relief  
>We'll drink up our grief<br>And pine for Summer  
>And we'll buy beer to shotgun<br>And we'll lay in the lawn  
>And we'll be good<em>

_Now I'm laughing at my boredom_  
><em>At my string of failed attempts<em>  
><em>Because you think that it's important<em>  
><em>And I welcome the sentiment<em>  
><em>And we talk on the phone at night<em>  
><em>Until it's daylight<em>  
><em>And I feel clever<em>  
><em>And I hear the slow in your speech<em>  
><em>Yeah, you're half asleep<em>  
><em>Say goodnight"<em>

"The lyrics remind me of that friend I told you about," I said after a moment of quiet.

"Yeah," Beth asked.

I nodded.

"Did you both drink up your grief and buy beer to shotgun?" Beth joked.

I rolled my eyes and chuckled, "Not quite that part. Maybe switch the beer for orange juice."

She chuckled along with me for a second.

"No, but, we used to be like that. Really close, but just as friends. Really close friends. Alone in our own little world." I thought of The Creek. "Talk on the phone all night. Last time I spoke to her was on the phone. For hours. Can't even remember what we were going on about. But near the end, I could hear her getting tired... 'the slow in her speech'... and, we said goodnight... For the last time."

Beth's expression was so sad, and I suddenly realised that I had a lump in my throat too.

So I cleared it and gave her a smile. "I gotta go do chores," I told her, changing the subject. "Could I, uh, maybe take the last few of your stories back to my cell? I'll read them by tomorrow, I swear."

Beth smiled and nodded, "Yeah. Thanks for readin' 'em. I wasn't expecting you to get so into 'em all. It was nice."

"You're welcome, I guess. It was fun. See you later, Beth."

"Oliver?"

I stopped just before I left the cell, turning to face her, "Yeah."

"Forgot your beanie," she said as she reached over to hand it to me.

"Oh, thanks," I said as I stepped over and took it.

But as she reached out, her array of bracelets slid down her left arm slightly, and for the first time I noticed the collection of thin, pink, scars across her wrist.

I stared at them, kind of sent into a trance. Somehow, despite knowing they must have been a suicide attempt, the fine, slightly raised scars were... elegant... delicate... I know it sounds strange, but that was the only way I could think to describe them.

She withdrew her hand and her expression dropped, glancing awkwardly from me to the floor as her cheeks heated up in embarrassment.

"Um, sorry. I didn't mean..." I tried.

"No, it's okay." She tried to laugh it off. "Guess it's pretty pathetic, huh?"

I frowned as I pulled on my beanie. "No," I answered quietly, stepping back into her cell. "It's not pathetic."

But she averted her eyes, her cheeks blushing and clenching her jaw in her embarrassment.

I stuttered slightly, trying to think of something to say as I leant against the post of her bunk bed. "I mean, you chose to live. You wouldn't be here if you didn't... That's not pathetic... um, pretty brave, if you ask me."

She stared at me, and for a moment I thought she would cry or something, and I was terrified that I would have to console her as I was painfully terrible at doing things like that kind of thing.

But Beth didn't cry. I don't think I ever saw her cry.

"Yeah," she agreed meekly. "It was a long time ago. I guess I just... came back from it, you know?"

I nodded.

"Out on the road," Beth began gingerly. "I heard you were alone for almost half a year before Daryl and Michonne found you... I can't imagine how terrifying that would've been."

I shrugged and dipped my head.

"How did you do it?"

I let a grin work itself across my mouth, "I talk to myself a lot," I admitted ridiculously.

Beth chuckled, but after a moment her face fell and I knew she wanted a more serious answer.

"Well, it got pretty tough at times I guess. For a little while I thought I'd... well, um, I was never..."

"Suicidal?" Beth finished for me.

I nodded solemnly, glad that she didn't take offence, "Yeah. I was never suicidal. But sometimes I just didn't wanna do anything at all. I just wanted to not... _be..._ anymore. But, I'm not sure. I guess I just hoped that one day it'd get better... And it did."

Beth smiled. "I'm glad you found your brother again," she said, and then thumbed at the spine of her diary. She hesitated, but after a second I watched as she tore out a page from her notebook and handed it to me. "I'd like you to read this one too. If that's alright?"

"Really?" I asked, gently taking it from her hand.

She nodded and let a reassuring smile pull at her lips, and I hoped I wasn't being awkward or something because the very idea of reading something so personal to her was pretty daunting to me for some reason, but she seemed to mean it, so I thanked her.

"Chores," she reminded me.

"Yep. Chores. See you tomorrow."

"See you, Oliver."

So with that I left to drop Beth's stories into my cell, Patrick had already gone, and so I was able to leave the papers under my bed next to my comics and ever-growing book stash. Then I headed to the inside cafeteria to find Carol and my brother for chores.

_~ Later ~_

It was the late evening. Everything had gone quiet, with only the occasional sigh or cough or shuffle as everyone in the cell block settled themselves to sleep.

The perfect time for my bladder to suddenly decide it needed to go.

So I got out of bed, hobbling across the cell block from the freezing cement against the balls of my feet. I went, and it was just as I was washing my hands that I heard something move behind me.

I span around, startled as the noise got a little louder, coming towards me, clumsily and heavily and grunting slightly. My mind raced and my heart hammered adrenaline through my body.

A walker.

It had to be.

I didn't know how but it had to be.

There was a crowbar on the sink edge, it was used to pry the tap whenever we had to use it as the plumbing was a little tricky in our block from the irrigation system that had been made. My hand gripped it instantly, pulling it from the sink with a low, eerie ring as the metal scraped over the porcelain surface.

I saw it come into my view, wandering towards the showers slightly.

My breath was quickening, terrified as the male walker ambled right past, and I was about to make a noise, draw its attention and take it out before it got someone, hoping that after so much time away from my machete it wouldn't affect my skill in combat.

But then...

". . . L-Lauren, I tried... I t-tried... but our little girl... she's gone?"

The terrified relief swamped me whole and I dropped the crowbar, letting it slip from my grasp with a loud _CLANG_ as it hit the tiles at my feet.

The man, who was alive and called Charlie and lived in a cell on the second floor, startled badly, spinning around and almost stumbling as he faced me.

I was panting and clutching my hand over my heart, "God, I thought you were a walker."

"Wh-... How did I get here?" he asked.

I couldn't think of how to answer, I just stared and sort of clambered to pick up the crow bar and put it back, trying not to think that I was ready to slam it through his skull a moment ago.

"Oh, Jesus Christ. I was sleepwalking again."

"Again?" I asked, gulping and trying not to throw up.

He nodded, wiping his tired eyes and stepping back towards the exit with me. "Yeah, happens every once in a while. More so lately after getting here."

Charlie had only arrived a few months before I did, and he was quiet and always seemed sad. After what I'd just overheard, I figured it had something to do with Lauren and his daughter, though, I didn't need to ask. They weren't there... that only left one other fate for them.

"Maybe you should try locking your cell at night. It'd be terrible if you fell down the stairs or something."

"Yeah... I will," he rubbed the back of his head, sighing. " You're Oliver, right? And your brother's Patrick?"

I nodded as we walked out of the shower blocks.

"Sorry about scaring you back there."

"It's okay."

Charlie patted my shoulder and made for the staircase. "Night, kid."

"Bye, Mr. Mannings."

I went back to my cell, finding a zonked out Patrick on the top bunk, so I sat on my bed and flipped on my flash light.  
>"Hey..."<p>

I snapped my head up to see Patrick leaning over the bunk and glaring at me with only one eye open, the rest of his face contorted and irritated.

"Dude, turn it off."

I did as he said, sending the room into black once again and waiting a long moment for him to fall asleep again, only to quietly flip the torch back on.

I carefully took out the small piece of paper that was still folded in my pocket. The page from Beth's diary. So I sat back on my bed, shining the light against the page on my legs and read.

"_Hey. I know it's been a while. I'm gonna be honest, I forgot about you. After the farm we were always moving. But something happened. Something good. Finally._"

I wasn't sure why, but I felt like a Peeping Tom. I mean, it was Beth's diary. But I reasoned with myself, knowing that she had allowed me to read it, giving it to me herself. So I kept reading.

"_We found a prison. Daddy thinks that we can make it into a home. He says we can grow crops in fields, find pigs and chickens, stop running, stop scavenging. Lori's baby is just about due. She'll need a safe place when it comes. The rest of us, we just need a safe place to be. I woke up in my own bed yesterday. My own bed, in my own room. But I've been keeping my backpack. Keeping my gun close. I've been afraid to get my hopes up. Thinking we can actually stay here. The thing is, I've been starting__to get afraid that it's easier just to be afraid. But this morning Daddy said something - If you don't have hope, what's the point of living?"_

I realised why she wanted me to read it now. After what I had told her, she knew I would relate to her, and I did, so I kept reading.

"_So I unpacked my bag, and I found you. So I'm gonna start writing in you again, and I'm gonna write this down now because you should write down wishes to make them come true. We can live here. We can live here for the rest of our lives._"

I was smiling when I finished, buzzing all over as I switched off my flash light and got into bed, because I was so sure it was true. It took a little while since I'd gotten to The Prison, but I really thought I would spend the rest of my life there. I thought we all would. I thought we'd find more survivors, add to our numbers. I thought I'd grow old here with everyone else. I thought I'd maybe even fall in love, start a family even. Maybe. I thought that when I finally did die, when any of us did, that it would be quiet, and we'd be with family. We'd know what would have to be done, but it would be okay. I really thought that we had had our serving of bad stuff, and that all that was left for us was a new start, and a good future...

Foolish naïvety.

**Notes**

This chapter was simply because I miss Beth like FUCKING crazy.

The poem "Time" was written a long time ago by my grandmother. She is my hero. The other short story about the girl and the dog was written by her too and I absolutely love it, but it's a few pages long and so I couldn't fit it in like I could for "Time".

She gave me her permission to post the poem.

I'm not really sure if that was a happy or sad ending... I kind felt torn. I was glad Oliver spoke about Penelope again a little :) And it was nice writing a prison chapter where Carl wasn't in it much, but was still there in the back of Oliver's mind.

**Preview: The next chapter will be an example of the things Oliver did for Patrick that he didn't want to do. As, if you're up to date with the actual fanfiction, you'll remember that Oliver mentions to Daryl that he used to to things that he didn't want to do for Patrick just because he was his older brother. It involves lying to one's parents, bribing, drug abuse, friendly cats and milkshake, and the title of it will be "House Elf"... don't fret, when you read it it will not be nearly as dramatic as all of that sounds. Trust me. Hopefully... oh dear.**

Hope you all enjoyed xx please leave a comment/review xx

As always,

Happy reading xx :_)_


	14. House Elf

**I'm so sorry that I forgot to reply to you in the last chapter! I was half asleep and just pressed submit without thinking! Sorry! I apologise if I made any of you feel under appreciated! I love you all!**

Special congratulations to **fictoinboy **for your engagement! Keep loving and stay amazing!

**fictoinboy **Thank you, and I'll try xxx

**The Darker Side123 **It was sad :( Beth was so amazing! You'll have to see, I'm constantly changing my mind lately haha, but hopefully that keeps you guys on your toes haha xx

**Guest **I'M SORRY! I'M SO BAD WITH SPOILERS! When it's my story, I always figure that spoiling it won't be a big deal because it's not important, and only recently am I really coming to terms with the fact that you guys actually consider ideas of my imagination spoiler worthy, which is crazy to me! But I fixed it, and I'm sorry you were a victim xx Don't be mad at me X) xxx

_A year before the Apocalypse. Six months after the play_

_Oliver is twelve_

_July time_

"No!"

"Oh, come on, dude?"

"No, Pat. I'm not doing it!"

"Shut up - Mom's gonna hear you."

I glared at him. "Why do I have to go?"

He rolled his eyes, "I told you. Mom'd figure out it was a party. If you come too she'd know you would never go to one."

"No, I wouldn't. That's why I'm not going."

"Ugh, you're such a pansey, Oliver."

"Why don't you just tell her it's a house party? Conner's parents are gonna be there."

He suddenly smacked me upside my head.

"OW!"

"You idiot," he hissed, "of course his parents aren't gonna be there."

"Boys?"

We froze at our mother's voice coming from the office upstairs.

"Mom, Patrick's tryi-Mmhhmm!"

He'd shoved me against the fridge, roughly pressing his palm over my mouth and shoving his forearm against my chest. "Shut up!"

I struggled against him, pushing his hands away and scuffling against them as he tried to get purchase on my mouth again, both of us grunting and growling one syllable warnings to one another, until it all suddenly just froze at his next offer.

"I'll give you ten dollars if you do this."

I narrowed my eyes, listening to Mom as she walked down the staircase, hearing our hissed squabble.

"Twenty."

His frown was ferocious. "I don't have twenty dollars."

"Yes you do. I know where you keep your stash."

"No you don't."

"Yeah, I do. It's under your bed with your porn stash."

"You piece of..." he grimaced, holding back his cuss. "Twelve dollars."

"Fifteen."

He growled through his teeth. "You're such a leech, Oliver."

"Fifteen, or no deal." I was relentless.

"Fine," he glared, "Fifteen, you little gremlin."

I grinned as he let go of me, though, quickly straightened my face and turning around to open the fridge just as Mom walked into the kitchen.

"Hey, Mom," I said nonchalantly, rummaging for nothing.

She cocked an eyebrow and leant against the frame of the door. I took a few grapes out of the fridge, not hungry at all but knowing I'd look even more suspicious if I didn't do something.

"You okay?" I added.

"What was all that about?" Mom didn't beat around the bush.

Patrick's head darted up to her, and while my back was turned I widened my eyes at him in panic.

"What was what?" he asked her.

"You know _what_."

He faked his confusion.

But I knew we only looked more suspicious. "I just," I fumbled slightly, stalling my chewing on a grape. "I wanted to play a board game, but Patrick wouldn't do it with me. Sorry."

"Oh, well, I'll play with you," Mom offered, seemingly buying my story. "I've got to get all that Geography grading done first. But after, what do you say me and you go out onto the porch and play scrabble or something?"

I nodded, actually liking that idea a lot.

"Actually, Mom, can Oliver and I go over Conner's tonight? For a sleepover."

For a moment she looked kind of confused. "He's invited Oliver too?"

Patrick nodded, "Yeah. He slept over that one time before, and they're friends."

It was half true and half a lie. Conner and I weren't really friends. We were on acquaintance terms together, but we had never actually had a real conversation. He was always Patrick's friend. But I had slept over his house before. It was basically a babysitting thing because Mom was away for some school district conference thing and needed someone to take care of me and Patrick since Dad was in Ohio working too. It was fun. I didn't really talk to anyone much, I mostly just sat and read in their living room and played with their cat while Patrick and Conner watched TV upstairs.

"That sounds lovely," Mom said. I think she was just happy that I had 'made a friend', and I tried not to look guilty. "When do you want to get there?"

"Any time really. He said we could eat over there."

"Okay, you both should go pack," she told us as she turned around and went back upstairs.

Patrick got up, and he could see that I was hesitating so he grabbed my arm and pulled me to go with him. "It'll be fun, Oliver... It's just a house party."

Just a house party.

_~ Conner's House ~_

This wasn't good.

"What do you mean you don't know anybody here?!" Patrick hissed at Conner after dragging the three of us up to his bedroom through the crowd of about ten eighteen-to-twenty-one-year-old people that we'd just barged through to get there.

My heart was beating so fast, and I was clutching my backpack to my chest, mumbling under my breath how much I wanted to go home and contemplating just running back by myself.

"Shut up, Oliver," my bother growled, and I did as I was told. "Conner, explain. Now!"

He put his arms up in submission, "Dani just said I could have a few friends over!" Dani was Conner's nineteen-year-old big sister. "I didn't say you were suppose to bring your stupid brother!"

"Hey!"

Conner looked somewhat apologetic, but before he said anything Patrick cut him off.

"How else was I gonna get Mom to let me come?!" he growled. "Remember the last time?!"

The last time, Patrick, Conner, Jamie and a few other of their friends skipped school to go out of town together. But the idiots didn't expect school to phone home, and so they were caught, and Mom had been suspicious of Conner ever since.

We heard the doorbell go, and Conner rushed out of his bedroom.

"I'm going too," Patrick told me.

I stood there, nodding for no idea what else to do. "I'm... I'm, uh, just gonna stay here. Read."

"You're so weird."

I scowled, and, "I hate you for making me do this!" was the worst thing I could think of to tell him.

He left, and I threw my backpack on the floor, rummaging around inside of it to grab my stupid book, _Cat In The Hat._

I heard Jamie downstairs too, laughing and talking and with everyone else. Music was playing too, not really that loudly, but it still made me worried. I wanted to go home so badly. I hated stuff like this. So I refused to leave Conner's room, bitterly reading my book curled up on the floor with my back against the air conditioning machine.

I was starving, but I was too scared to go down stairs and ask.

It must have been about nine o'clock or so before my mobile phone rang in my pack. I jumped, clambering for it and answering the call.

"Penelope!"

"Hey," she sounded a little startled from my outburst. "So... I just called your house, and your mom said you were at Conner's... but that can't be true because, in his right mind, Oliver De Luca would never go to a house party."

"You didn't tell her that did you!?"

"No, of course I didn't!"

I sighed with relief, "Good. Because I've got fifteen dollars riding on this. Wait, how did you know Conner was having a house party?"

"A few kids in class were talking about it."

For a moment I was so glad that Mom worked in a school two towns away.

"So, why are you there? Other than the fifteen dollars."

"Pat made me," I answered grudgingly.

"Aren't you scared? I thought it was all older teenagers."

"It is! They've all got coloured hair and dreadlocks and weird clothing and feathers in their fair. Penelope, I'm freaking out."

She giggled, "They sound pretty cool. Don't worry, Ollie, you'll be okay. Just, stay away from The Water That Isn't Water."

I grimaced. "What?"

But before she could answer me, someone barged into the room. I jumped, startled as not one, but two people stumbled in, clambering onto Conner's bed as if they were attacking each other. It was Dani's friends. A girl, eighteen or nineteen-years-old, with long, blue and purple hair, with her legs and arms wrapped around a guy about her age, maybe a little older, with dark skin and black, short hair with a star shaved into the side of his head. They were kissing each other in ways I had never even thought possible before, and they didn't even notice me.

"What was that?" Penelope could hear their gasps and moans.

"Um..."

The two teenagers startled at the lost noise I'd made, yelping and pulling apart to stare at the young, twelve-year-old boy huddled in the corner of the room with a book and phone in his hands, staring wide eyed at them.

"Get out!"

I froze.

"GET OUT! You little pervert!"

I clambered from the room, slamming the door closed behind me as I stumbled out into the hallway, panting and terrified as I leant over the banister. I heard someone laugh beside me, spinning to see Jamie.

"Hey, little guy."

I frowned, clutching my book to my chest and my phone in my other hand.

He swayed slightly, and he had a bottle of some kind of bright, blue alcohol in his hand. "You met Harry and Kelly then?"

I nodded awkwardly, hearing Penelope either laughing or talking in my hand.

"You know, the aim of peeping is not to get caught," Jamie said.

I glared at him, about to tell him that I wasn't, that they had just barged in.

But he was laughing, taking another drink from his bottle. "It's okay, Oliver," he slurred slightly, making his accent sound funny, and he stepped forward to ruffle my hair like an old man, when in fact he was only fourteen.

But I grabbed at his hand and pushed it away from me.

He stopped, frowning slightly in confusion. "Alright, don't throw a Benny! Why are you angry at me?" he asked.

"I'm not," I shook my head, not really knowing what else to say.

"I'm gonna go pee," he said, wandering off into the bathroom, seemingly having forgotten that he was mildly offended a moment ago.

Drunk people.

"Ollie!"

"Oh!" I brought the phone to my ear again. "Sorry, hey. Um, Penelope, I've gotta go."

"Wait, no, Ollie! What happened?"

"I got kicked out of Conner's room by some of his sister's friends. And, I don't think I can stay on the landing all night. Maybe I'll go find Cat."

"Oh my God," she giggled. "You've already had The Water That Isn't Water, haven't you?"

"What? No," I said, still not sure what that meant at all. "Look, I'll call you tomorrow. Night, Penelope."

She chuckled, "Okay, night. Be careful. Um, and, have a good time, I guess?"

"Bye," I said nervously.

"Bye, Ollie."

So, I hung up, and then timidly headed downstairs to search for a place to sit in quiet.

The living room was full of Dani's friends, and I could smell something disgusting. Really disgusting, and it stuck to the back of my nose and clung there like an old, smelly sock. I could hear Patrick was in there, Conner too, and other voices I didn't recognise.

So I made an effort to avoid that room completely, heading straight into the kitchen.

There were glass bottles and drink cans everywhere, on the tables, counters, in the sink, even on the top of the fridge. Most were full, but a lot where empty as well.

I cleared a spot at the chair at the table, taking a seat and trying to pretend I was anywhere but there.

Though again, it wasn't long later that someone walked in.

It was an older guy, maybe twenty, and he had shaggy, brown hair that looked like it was made of wet dirt. He double took at me, and then just stared for a long time as I tried to ignore him, unable to focus as I stared at the page, reading the same word over and over again, "fool".

That was me, a complete and utter fool.

"Uhh... Dani?!" the guy called, drawing out her name like a child calling for its mom, alarm on his expression as he turned his head but kept his eyes glued on me. "When did you get a house elf?" he seemed to ask himself. I glared at him in offence, and he actually startled from my sudden movement, suddenly muttering a, "Shit, you're real!" under his breath.

"What?" I heard Dani ask before I saw her a moment later walk in.

Dani Hill was probably the prettiest girl I'd ever seen. She was slightly shorter for her age, and was a little curvier than the usual stereotypical, skin-and-bone-model-looking woman, but she really was beautiful. Her hair always seemed to be messy, but like it was supposed to be like that, and it looked great, but she never acted like she knew it. She was kind and gentle and soft spoken, and always smiled this kind of warm, soft smile.

"What kinda weed did you give me?" the guy asked her, sort of chuckling in slow motion.

"It's okay, Andy," she cooed. "Just go lie down a while. I'll... uh, deal with the house elf."

I was smirking then, finding it funny as she placed her hand on the small of his back and lead him out of the kitchen, motioning me to stay where I was until she came back.

I closed my book, placing it on the table just as she came back in again.

"Oliver, right?" she asked as she reached up to a cat food box and took out a wet-food packet.

I nodded, "Yeah, Oliver De Luca... um, n-not a house elf."

She chuckled as she shook the packet of cat food, and it crackled from the movement. "Yeah, sorry about him. We were watching _Chamber of Secrets_ a few hours ago... and, uh, yeah, Andy can get a little carried away when he's on that stuff. Sees things others can't, you know?"

I nodded even though I didn't know at all.

Something grey bounded into the kitchen, and my head snapped to look at it.

"Hey, Cat," Dani cooed. Really, that was its name, Cat. I wasn't sure why. It just was. She served the food for him and left it on the floor in his bowl, and the tabby feline stalked over with a quiet, grateful meow and began his meal. Dani looked at me and tilted her head to one side, watching me curiously as I thumbed at the binding of my book, then she glanced at the vodka bottles on the table. "Help yourself if you want to."

Dani may have been nice, but she wasn't exactly the most responsible person in the world.

I shook my head, staring at what I realised was The Water That Wasn't Water. "No thank you, uh, I'm okay."

"Do you want anything?"

I thought of my empty stomach. "Uh, some food, if that's okay?"

She nodded and went to the fridge. "Come see what you want."

"Okay," I said, standing and going over to the fridge. "Umm... a sandwich?"

"Drink?"

"Apple juice, please?"

She grinned in amusement at something I hadn't realised was funny, and then gestured for me to sit on the counter beside the fridge while she poured me my drink and got the bread.

I hopped up. "Thank you," I said as I took the glass.

"What do you want in your sandwich?"

"Uh, peanut butter and jelly, please?"

She smiled as she got the spreads, "You're so polite, Little House Elf."

I smiled awkwardly, kind of nodding slightly and then looking away to drink some of my juice.

She turned away, going over to the sink to wash her hands. "You know, our brothers are pretty high right now. Patrick said he's done it before. But I'm not so sure. This is Conner's first time, so... Do you know if he has?"

I shrugged, honestly not having any idea. I wasn't sure what they were doing in the living room. I knew about drugs, but not much, and I knew Mom would murder him if she ever found out, but I also knew I wouldn't tell her, as I would only get in trouble too if I did.

Dani made my sandwich and then stayed with me for a little while as I ate, talking a little, and then daydreaming for a while when she decided to stop talking, realising that I was happy just staying quiet, occasionally cooing to Cat and then grinning madly as he insisted on pushing his face against me to get my attention, and when I was done she cleaned up my plate for me.

"Hey, d'you know how to make milkshake?"

I shook my head, wiggling my fingers against Cat's neck.

"Do you want to?"

I nodded.

"Cat got your tongue?"

"Hm?" I looked at Cat, then glanced at her, realising she was kidding. "Oh, n-no, he doesn't."

She sneered quietly as she got out the blending machine. Then she rummaged around in the cupboards and got out some chocolate, sugar, vanilla extract, and I got the milk from the fridge when she asked me to.

I piled the ingredients in, and luckily for both of us, Dani thought responsibly enough to do the blending part, and I clamped my hands over my ears as the loud wizzing noise shattered through the whole house like a chainsaw.

She was grinning at my reaction when she turned it off and ran it under the tap.

"Could you get some glasses – wait, no, plastic cups. Won't smash if we all use cups," she said, pointing to a cupboard opposite me.

I nodded and climbed up onto the counter to get to it, handing down what felt like a hundred colourful, plastic cups to her.

"Thank you," she said each time.

She poured the giant amount of milkshake between fifteen cups.

"Wanna help me take 'em out to everyone?"

I nodded, taking a few cups as she handed them to me, and then getting two to take herself.

So we went about to serving as many chocolate milkshakes to anyone who wanted them, and I tried to ignore the curious looks everyone was giving me for being there, and how the room was sort of misty and thick-feeling, and the way my brother was giggling like a child when I handed him his milkshake. Though, he insisted that he was fine when I asked.

The two people who came into Conner's room earlier walked into the living room, and everyone erupted into a chorus of wolf whistles and chuckles, and I tried not to run away when I had to hand them a chocolate milkshake each. But they both seemed to not even remember me, because they took the drink and thanked me, taking a seat on the couch together.

They all continued talking, and I was getting used to the smell, and also kind of feeling a little light headed, but I figured I was just tired.

I felt something nudge my shoulder, glancing at them to see Dani holding a cup out to me. I took it. "Thank you," I told her, only just realising that I had taken a seat on the rug in front of the fire, my book rested on my lap. Dani sat beside me, as there were no other places to sit anymore.

This wasn't exactly the party I had in mind. There wasn't music blasting or people dancing all over the place. Everyone was sat, relaxed and looking happy and half asleep, muttering and giggling together as they drank their shakes.

"You feeling okay? You look a little pale." Dani's voice floated through my mind like a distant whisper.

I nodded, taking a sip of my milkshake, kind of feeling guilty that I hadn't finished my apple juice in the kitchen yet. But I soon forgot about that as I tasted how amazing the milkshake was.

"Wait..." someone said suddenly, and I glanced around, surprised that they were talking to me. He was a kind of Asian-looking guy about Dani's age, though his skin was a little darker so I guessed he was part African or something as well, and he was slim and with defined features, and he had a funny cow lick in his hair from slouching on the couch for so long. "You're the kid who puked at the play, right?"

My expression dropped.

"Oh man, that was awesome!" he said, knowing I was. "I was in the audience for my little sister. Dude, like, an hour after it was over she found your puke on the end of her dress."

I grimaced, my face turning so many shades of red that it hurt.

"Nah, don't be embarrassed. It was hilarious. That was the best part of the whole play."

That didn't make me feel any better, at all.

"Aww," Dani said, "that's adorable. What happened? Stage fright?"

I nodded, taking another swig of my milkshake and hoping that the cold would cool down my face.

"You don't talk much do you?" A girl opposite me said, she had a nose ring and a sweet-looking round face, and her hair was short and dark red, matching her eye shadow.

"I talk," I said to prove it.

She laughed, and a few others who were listening did too.

"Patrick make you come tonight?"  
>I nodded, grimacing slightly as I glanced at my brother, who pulled a weird face at me and then looked away to talk to Jamie.<p>

"Sorry, kid," the girl with hair that matched her eye shadow said. "But, we're not all that scary. I promise."

"I'm not scared," I told her slightly sluggishly. It was oddly true. I wasn't afraid anymore. Just, drowsy and tired and really wanting more of that chocolate milkshake. But I had drank all of mine, so I put my cup aside and placed my hands on my book.

After a while, Cat came in and greeted everybody, settling with me eventually because I was the quietest and didn't keep prodding him and asking him to say something like a few of Dani's friends tried to do.

I didn't really do much else that night, I just sort of sat there with Cat, listening and observing the others as they spoke and laughed and drank and smoked. Sometimes they would ask me questions like what was my favourite music or movie, and what I wanted to be when I grew up to which my answer was always "I don't know yet..." but most of the time they just forgot I was there and let me keep observing them, like an explorer observing a nature reserve or something. They never did stop calling me _House Elf _though, which didn't annoy me as much as I thought it would.

Until finally, people began to fall asleep. Though, they didn't wander off to find somewhere, they simply would stop speaking and fall asleep where they were. Some people were tangled together as they fell asleep, some where led in odd angles that looked painful. Patrick was sprawled against Jamie, with his legs draped over some brunette-haired girl with a few striped feathers in her fringe that I had never seen before who was also asleep already, mumbling something about presumably her pet turtle.

I was beginning to drift off too. My head would roll forward without me realising it, startling and jolting me awake again.

I heard Dani chuckle at me, as she hadn't fallen asleep yet either. "Go to sleep, House Elf."

I tried to smile, but I just managed to shake my head instead. "I'm... I," I was fumbling with my words, having trouble keeping my eyes open. "Fuzzy. I feel, uhm, fuzzy."

"Don't worry." I wondered if her expression was sympathetic or amused. Maybe both. "You'll feel clearer in the morning."

I shook my head again, "But I'm not tired."

She snickered slightly, putting a hand on my shoulder and gently pulling me to lie down, and I didn't even make an effort to resist, so tired that I was desperate for the sleep really. She gently ran her fingers over my forehead the way my mom sometimes did, brushing my hair out of my closed eyes, and then she leant down and kissed my cheek.

"Night, House Elf."

I smiled drowsily, listening vaguely as she leant up again and went across the room to find somewhere to sleep. I started drifting, but before I did, I felt something warm and soft and furry hop over me and rup against the back of my head, and I absentmindedly put my hand behind my back to it to feel Cat, and the strange creature curled up against my spine and began purring away as I tiredly ran my fingers between his ears.

Then, everything fell quiet into a chorus of snoring and breathing and the occasional sniff or cough or mumble, until finally the darkness caved in on my mind and swallowed me into slumber.

**Notes**

**Again, special congrats to fanfictoinboy! Happy engagement!**

This was inspired by The Perks of Being a Wallflower. I adore that book and film. Dani reminds me of Sam, kinda.

Also, second hand weed smoking is a real thing! I didn't know that! I had to look it up on askjeeves! Hahaha so yep, Oliver got slightly high without even realising it. Yep, it happened. Okay? Okay.

I thought it was nice that his first house party was this, yes, he did get high, and he did go against his will, but in the end it was okay. He was looked after (minus the second hand weed smoking and the alcohol offers) but everyone was nice to him and nothing bad happened :)

Please leave a comment/review to tell me what you thought xxx

As always,

Happy reading xx :_)_


	15. Keeping Him Safe

**TheDarkerSid123** Thank you very much x I am kind of convinced that Oliver didn't even get his money in the end. Maybe I'll mention it in a later chapter? But oh well, yeah, it was good that he was okay. I'm so glad you enjoying the original short stories as well as the main story. It really means so goddamn much to me! Thank you!

**This WHOLE chapter was inspired by a conversation between me and BurningFireBird. Thank you!**

_Five months into The Outbreak. Around four months after leaving home. Four or so months until separation_

_Oliver is fourteen_

_Mid January time_

**Friendly heads up, this chapter will alternate between Oliver and Patrick's POV :)**

**Oliver's POV**

Elizabethtown, Kentucky.

It had taken Patrick and I four damn months to finally fucking get there. Relentlessly aiming for Bowling Green because it's where the Safe Zone was said to be. Patrick had the map, and he'd gotten better at reading it too. We'd just passed a school, (really, really overrun) and we were a few miles past Glendale after taking a slight detour around actual Elizabethtown, because we were sure there would be biters crawling all over the place, and we didn't trust highways after we almost got trapped by a cluster on there, but we were quick enough to spot them and quiet enough to hide while they passed.

"Take the map a sec," Patrick commanded, "I can't hold it and drive."

Yes...

Patrick was driving.

We found the run-down old Jeep outside of a gas station about four days ago. It was dusty on the inside and their was a torn off leg on the back seat... But we got rid of it and just did well to ignore the smell and the blood stains. I didn't throw up when I saw it either, which was a first, and once we scavenged as much supplies and food from the gas station that was left (about six cans of mixed vegetables, and only two were left) we went on our journey.

I hated Patrick's driving.

He'd had lessons before The Outbreak, but he'd failed his mock tests miserably. Only now did I realise why, because over the four days in the passenger seat I'd thrown up too many times to count from his sudden jerks and stops and accelerations. The phrase, "Out the window!" was one I'd heard more times that I ever need to in my whole life, and by now there was quite a lot of paint job under the widow peeling off from my yack, and I was always hungry because whatever I was eating I was hurling. So we had decided to eat once in the evening when we stopped, as it would give me enough time to digest it over night. It was working, because I hadn't yacked in whole a day, but we were starved because we only had one can between the both of us to eat because we were so scarce of food, and I still felt horribly queasy in the vehicle. But we had to deal with it, and so we did.

"Okay," I mumbled, ignoring my churning stomach as I looked down at the crinkled road map. "Where are we going through?"

"We're in Hardin County, Kentucky right now, heading South West to go through Hart County. I'm hoping there'll be a store or house to look through for some food."

"There's nothing around." It was eerily true. It was just fields and the occasional hay barn.

Patrick sighed. "There's a National Park about thirty or so miles away. We'll go through and then Bowling Green is just on the other side once we get about thirty miles past Brownsville. We'll just have to keep going South West."

"I got it," I said even though everything he'd just said flew over my head like an attacking crow, but after a few minutes (with some mutterings from him to help) I found our rout on the map. But my expression dropped. "Pat... You can't drive through the Park can you."

The car screeched to a stop, throwing both of us forward with a smack.

"Oh, man..." I moaned as I pushed myself from the dashboard, my stomach flipping.

I knew I was going to... so I clambered from the car, doubling over and dry heaving into the grass verge. Some bile came up, but nothing else. There was nothing else in me.

". . . You f- huurk! Uhhg... God, Pat... hurrk! You fucking ass hole!"

"Sorry," Patrick apologised as he got out of the car and stood guiltily off to the side.

Without any outward forgiveness, I sat up, wiped my mouth and got back into the Jeep, frowning as he followed and got into the driver's seat beside me.

The guilty look on his expression was one I would've laughed at in any other circumstance. "I'm not good at driving. I didn't mean to break so fast."

"How are we going to get through?" I ignored his apology, not wanting to talk about it as I glared out of the window at the countryside surrounding us, spotting a biter wandering across a field. But it would be ages before it got to us.

Patrick sighed as he thought.

"Can we go around it?" I asked when he took too long.

"But it'd take days. We're so close. One more day, two tops, and we'll be there in Bowling Green..." His grip on the steering wheel tightened and the noise of rubbing as skin fastened against leather made my ears tickle uncomfortably. "We'll... We'll be safe."

_Safe _was somewhat of an offensive word to my brother. It was something that the pair of us had always taken advantage of. But now, out there. No parents. No food. No shelter. No help... Just hope... Safety was something I was scared he would kill for... Something I was scared I would kill for too.

"We'll keep going," he decided suddenly. "Drive until we can't anymore. The Jeeps gonna run out of gas soon anyway. And when it does we'll keep going on foot."

I took a deep breath and nodded, "Okay."

_~ Later That Day ~_

"Dude, it's a biter," Patrick insisted as he re-tied his shoes, returning his brief glance up at the moving thing to continue.

"No, it's not, Pat."

"Yeah, it is, it's been there for ages."

"It's been coming towards us. It was only just pas that friend a few minutes ago."

"So? Still just a biter. We'll take care of it."

I froze. ". . . Pat..."

"Oliver. Calm do-"

He didn't finish, because I was grabbing at his shoulder, shoving him to stand up. "Biters don't wave."

"What...?" he squinted, straightening himself to focus.

I grumbled my sigh as I grabbed his glasses that were hanging limply in his hand. "Fucking put them on, Idiot."

He frowned, "That potty mouth of yours is gonna get you into trouble."

"Look!" I urged impatiently.

He put them on and took another look. "It's just. . . Oh, sh-"

"We should leave," I interrupted him nervously.

"We should see what he wants."

"No!" I barked. "Are you out of your ball sack!"

"Come on, Oliver."

"What if he tries to rob us?"

"We don't have anything to rob."

"Yeah, except our lives."

"We haven't exactly got a choice. The Jeep's dead. We run and he'll only catch up."

It was true, the Jeep had run out of gas only a few minutes ago and we'd been walking ever since. Our backpacks and basic supplies weighing down on our spines, and despite it being pretty cold and windy, we were both sweating and exhausted and running on fumes.

"Hey, h-hey! You there!"

Plus, the guy had seen us already.

"Hey! I'm not lookin' for trouble! I swear!"

Patrick tensed beside me, grabbing my arm and pulling me closer behind him, gripping his knife in his right hand as I grasped my machete in mine.

The man got closer, he was Caucasian, black hair and a slightly overgrowing beard, and with his shirt and jeans and boots, he wore a baseball cap and had a rifle on his spine.

"Pat."

"I know," he said, noticing the holstered weapon too.

The man put his hands up in submission, "I'm not lookin' for trouble, I swear. I-I just... I just saw you a few miles back on my huntin' trip when you stopped." Our Jeep was behind us a little way, and the road we were following continued up hill for a few miles, and parts of it we could just make out behind the tree line, he must have seen us through it.

"Hunting?" Patrick called sceptically instead of asking him to leave his gun, because that would've been useless. "Then where's your catch?"

The man smiled slightly, letting out a chuckle as he sighed, "You don't miss much, huh? No, actually, I've been tailin' a buck for my group. Been followin' it for miles ever since this mornin'. Almost had it, but when the damned thing heard your engine cut out it got away."

I hoped that wasn't enough of a motive to kill us. But I was sure that if anyone caused me to lose food that they would be at risk of losing a limb... so naturally, I wasn't all that confident, Patrick either.

"What do you want with us?" Patrick asked sternly even though he was trembling slightly.

"I don't want nothin' from you boys. I've just got a camp... 'bout five miles South-West o' here."

"In the Park?" Patrick interrupted.

"Yeah," he answered, letting a reassuring smile form over his mouth. "Mammoth Cave National Park."

Patrick nodded as he gestured to me. "We're headed to Bowling Green 'bout thirty miles South West of it. There's suppose to be a Safe Zone there."

The man was closer now... and he was shaking his head sympathetically.

"Why?" Patrick asked shakily, my heart dropped with his, fearing we knew the stranger's answer. "Have you been there?"

"It's overrun." . . . Fuck. . . "Fleshies everywhere. Ten o' my men died on a supply run there last month."

Patrick and I didn't answer, the grief ate us, swallowed us up and forced us to brace against each other to keep from falling. We were exhausted and starving and miserable. We had no idea what we were suppose to do.

The stranger sighed and waited a moment to let us compose ourselves. "You seem like some good kids... Some good people."

Patrick and I didn't say anything in the drained pause that followed, wanting to say the same thing about him, but the truth was we knew that we never could tell anymore.

"You can come back with me. Our camp's got about twenty now. Women 'n' children too. Haven't got any kids your age but pretty close by the looks. It's not in the safest place, well, it is, considerin', an' it's nothin' we haven't been able to defend by ourselves so far."

It was a nod from Patrick, and then a murmur from me, and then we were following him.

"My name's Jason by the way."

"Patrick," he returned the introduction, then motioned to me, "that's my brother Oliver."

"Where'd you boys come from then? Findin' your way all the way out here."

Patrick exchanged a glance with me, a silent sibling conversation taking place for a short moment, until ultimately deciding we could share.

"Virginia."

"Jeeze," Jason said, either impressed or not believing him. "On your own? All that way?"

Patrick shrugged, "There were others. Sometimes. But, we never stuck with them for long. Either the place got overrun or we wanted to get to different places. But most of it was just us." Even in The Apocalypse, Patrick did the talking.

"Where are your parents?" It was a stupid question, and Jason only seemed to realise once he'd already asked it. "I'm sorry. I didn't think. I sometimes forget that other's are a lot worse off than me and my family."

"It's cool," Patrick said dryly.

Jason nodded sympathetically, "You boys eat anythin' lately?"

"We're down to our last few cans of mixed vegetables. That's it," Patrick said.

I didn't mean to grimace. According to my taste buds, the vegetables had gotten old before we even found them.

Jason noticed my reaction and let out a quiet chuckle. "Here," he said, reaching into his pack and pulling out something that crackled. The noise familiar and mouth watering. "Got a mars bar. Want it?"

"Yes, Sir!" Patrick blurted, then composed himself. "Uh, yes please."

Jason handed it over and I watched intensely as Patrick unwrapped it and handed me half.

It was inhaled in seconds. Patrick's half too.

"Thank you," I managed to say.

"Sorry, I don't have another."

It was only then that I realised I was staring at him, like a puppy would stare at it's mother waiting for her to let it feed, silently begging him for more without even realising it. So I stopped and looked back to the ground, feeling like a fool.

"So, who else is at your camp?" Patrick asked, ignoring his stomach too.

"My daughter, Isla. Um, most are women, after nearly all o' the men not makin' it back from Bowling Green last month."

"Sorry," Patrick said.

"Ah, 's okay. I wouldn't mention anything about it to the ladies, 'cause they're still hurtin'. But they're strong, brave, holdin' up the fort. We got about five other men, an' about five kids between three 'n' ten-years-old."

"So," I began timidly, "are you like the leader?"

Jason smirked, "Somethin' like that. Nah, we're all equal there. I guess I'm just the guy they think has all the answers."

"Do you?" Patrick asked.

Jason dipped his head, bringing his gaze back to after a short silent consult with himself. "I'm not sure anyone does anymore."

**Patrick's POV**

It had started to rain by the time we got to the Park as it wasn't far away. I didn't even notice we were in it until I saw the sign. The trees sort of just appeared in the hazy storm, materialised around us. But the walk through to Jason's camp was far. So far. But I didn't complain, neither did Oliver. We just kept quiet for most of the rest of the way, ignoring the rain drenching every inch of us. But the tree cover did a lot to lessen the force of the storm, but even so, Oliver and I hung as we walked. I don't know, maybe it was a mixture of disappointment about Bowling Green and complete utter exhaustion, but I guess we just so drained that we couldn't even think about the discomfort anymore.

Eventually, without too much trouble and only two biters that we took care of, the three of us got to the Jason's camp.

The camp was by the river. Green River is what it was called. It was beginning to get dark, and so the moment we got past their camp boundaries I felt a lot safer, shivering and starving, but safer. Which really meant the world to me. Also, by camp boundaries, I mean it was sort of like a jagged snare fence that had a few gaps for people to get through, but it made noise if something pushed against it and there were people on lookout all the time. So... yeah, safe.

We were introduced to anyone that we came across, and the numbers Jason spoke of added up, and everyone seemed nice enough, maybe a little cold from the rain, but it was okay. Eventually we were shown to an area we could set up our stuff, and I left Oliver to set up our tent while I went and spoke about food with Jason and another few people, trying not to shiver, because I already looked like a child, shivering wouldn't help.

We came to the conclusion that anything Oliver and I had would be shared between everyone. At first I was reluctant, because sharing food was somewhat of a complete _No No _when it was for someone other than Oliver over the months alone. But I agreed. Jason said that what we had was now as much ours as it was theirs, we just had to make sure everyone was okay with it first... Communication, is what he said a lot. I was so grateful I almost thought I'd cry. But it kept nagging, that All Too Good To Be True Feeling.

When I got back to Oliver I was a little surprised to see that he had already finished the tent, and to top it off he wasn't alone either.

"Hey," I said, not meaning to sound rude.

"Hello," the girl that looked a few years older than me but was obviously a lot older said, she was African/American, with black, afro hair, blue-brown eyes, and had slightly lighter skin and more American-looking features from presumably being mixed race.

Oliver just pursed his lips and stuffed his backpack into the tent.

"I'm Patrick" I said, extending my hand to shake.

She nodded, "I'm Isla."

"Jason's daughter?"

"Smart kid."

I only knew because he had mentioned her. "I'm almost seventeen," is what I said instead.

Isla smirked, "Yeah. Smart _kid_." She obviously still thought I was. I didn't blame her, I still looked young, and the fact that my clothes were a little too big for me didn't help make me look any more mature.

"This is Oliver."

"Yeah, I know," she smiled at him warmly. "Your little bro introduced himself. Well, I kinda had to coax him into it... He's a little quiet."

"Yeah. He's my rescue dog. I got him at a pound, poor creature was gonna get put down otherwise. So, he's a little shy."

Isla snickered.

Oliver rolled his eyes so dramatically that I was a little worried he'd sprained them, shifting his weight as he knelt down beside the tent, wrapping his arms around his legs to warm himself, and I just grinned. It'd been a while since I could miff my little brother off with an audience.

"I'm guessing you both haven't been in a group for a while. Dad said he found you alone." Her voice was fairly articulate compared to her father's accent. I wasn't sure if it was odd or attractive.

"We've been in a few," I said. "But they got overrun, I'm not sure if anyone else got out."

"Sorry to hear that," Isla said, and was kind enough not to ask anything else. "I'll give you both a few minutes. Supper should be ready in an hour, come to the camp fire and you can meet everyone properly, yeah? Feel free to have a wonder around too, just, stay where we can see you."

I nodded and thanked her as she strolled off towards the main camp area, hugging herself as the soft rain fell on her, leaving water droplets over her shoulders and hair. She must have only come out of her tent, because she was only wearing a dark brown vest top that's hem stopped an inch or so above her denim jeans. It leaft a small gap between the clothing and I could see the her tanned skin there, and the faint groove of her spine...

"Take a picture, Pat. It'll last longer."

I didn't even try to be discreet towards him as I tilted my head a little. "I don't have a camera," I answered my brother, not particularly caring that he was trying to mock me and still gazing like a love-struck puppy after Isla.

"You're an animal," Oliver snorted as he threw a dry shirt and pair of jeans at me that I only just managed to catch before they would've fallen to the wet dirt. "Go change before you get pneumonia."

I was looking at her again, so I pulled my gaze away to frown at him. "Shut up. I was just looking. I'm not hurting anyone."

"It's creepy, Man," Oliver said.

I snorted, "Come on. She was pretty though."

Oliver tried not to smile as he rummaged around in our spare supply bag for some dry clothes, then disappeared into our tent to dress himself.

"She was! A guy can dream can't he?" I joked.

"She's twenty-one, Pat," he said incredulously from inside. "You should wake up now before you get a slap."

"God, you're so gay, Oliver."

"Shut up," he muttered.

I waited a moment, and eventually Oliver emerged from the tent, putting on his coat and letting me change. When I was finished, I kept watching him, wondering, until finally he shifted his gaze and fixed it on mine.

"What?" he asked irritably, sick of me staring.

"Are you?" I raised my eyebrows.

"Am I what?"

I shrugged, "You know?"

He frowned, confused. Then he mimicked my shrug and tone, "No I don't."

"Gay, Oliver."

Oliver didn't shout his defence at me like I expected, instead his eyebrows twitched upward slightly as he dropped my eye contact, and he crossed his arms over his stomach, only to look at me again a slightly tense moment later, "Why are you asking, exactly?"

I shrugged. "Guess I'm just curious."

Oliver smirked slightly, "Why are you curious?" His question wasn't accusatory or annoyed, it was just asking.

"Well, I know that there's not exactly a lot of kids around lately, but, I don't know. Before, with Penelope, you two never became more than friends even though we all thought you would. And you've never show, or, you know, showed any interest, that I know of, in girls."

Oliver had been rising both eyebrows throughout everything I was saying, mocking me, as if to say _Yeah, that you know of_.

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, okay, you haven't with guys either," I relented, feeling pretty foolish. "And, I guess even if you did you probably wouldn't announce it, especially to me, boy or girl."

He snorted his laugh.

"What about back at the last camp?" I asked, casually determined. "You made friends with Taylor."

"I know," he said a little curtly.

Taylor was a friend of Oliver's at our last camp. They were virtually inseparable in the time we were there, and it was bad, what happened there. Taylor didn't make it. We saw, and it was only a few weeks ago so the subject was still pretty sensitive, for him especially, because Taylor was the first friend since Penelope that he'd had.

"But, Pat..." Oliver was grinning again, trying to keep the mood light. "We were at that camp for four days, Taylor was my friend, but it's hardly enough time to get feelings for someone."

"You were pretty close," I said.

"Well, I wasn't," he assured, but I still wasn't entirely convinced because his smile had fallen again.

I nodded, trying to look for something to lift the mood again. "Plus, back before, Jamie told me he thought you were after speaking to you on Independence Day."

Oliver's cheeks suddenly burned crimson, "What?! No, Jamie just asked. I never said that I was. God, what an ass hole."

"Hey!" I scolded. "He was my best friend."

Oliver pursed his lips apologetically, "Sorry."

I smiled, shrugging, "It's cool. C'mon. Let's take a look around this place."

**Oliver's POV**

_~ Two Days Later ~ _

I was gripping the sides of the boat like a floundered whale, gasping and wide eyes and nervous. Patrick and Isla sat at either end of the floating piece of wood (that was a lot sturdier than I'm making it out to be). We were duck hunting in the Green River, and the day was quiet and serene after the short storm that'd had passed the night before. The boat made me feel awful. But I hadn't thrown up yet. So that was good.

"You wanna try?" Patrick whispered to me nervously, pretending that he wasn't completely out of his depth as he gripped Isla's rifle in his hands.

I shook my head furiously, shifting my eyes between him and the young woman.

Isla smirked. She did that a lot. Patrick called it sexy. I called it suspicious. Because I'd learnt that it always meant that she'd figured something out... and she had.

"You two haven't used a gun before, have you?" she whispered. Whispering because we were trying to be quiet so that we wouldn't spook the sleeping birds.

I shook my head immediately, and Patrick drooped his shoulders and sighed in defeat, busted, even though it was a dumb thing for him to lie about.

"I'll teach you, okay?" she offered kindly.

Patrick and I nodded.

"But I can't today, we've gotta get this done and then get back to camp to cook what we manage to put down. Dad and his run should be back by now, we can see what they brought back."

"Okay," Patrick said quietly.

"I hope they brought back some salt and pepper," I said. Because I said more things around Isla now.

They chuckled at me, and then Isla took her rifle back from Patrick, smiling as she pointed to the pile of stones on the floor that we'd collected before we came out.

Patrick and I knew what to do, so we grabbed one in each hand.

"At the reeds over there, that's where they're hiding," Isla whispered.

Patrick glanced at me, "One..."

"Two..." I whispered, poising my right arm.

"Three."

We threw the stones at the reeds, and the rested flock of ducks suddenly leapt up into the air like a speckled wave, flapping and squawking as they took flight away fro the disturbance.

**!BANG!**

**!BANG!**

**!BANG!**

**!BANG!**

**!BANG!**

Every shot shook through my ear drums like a herd of elephants, and I almost collapsed against the boat as I clutched my ears to protect them too late. I'd never heard gunfire before, and it scared me so bad that I almost damn well pissed my pants! But every shot counted, and five ducks suddenly stopped flapping and squawking, falling limp as if they'd hit an electrical dome, stunned to death, and one after the other flopping down in ordered formation back into the water to floating there. Dead.

Isla rowed us over to them and Patrick and I reached over the side and grabbed the unfortunate creatures. Y ears were still ringing as we placed the five, feathered bodies on the bench of the boat beside me, before heading back towards shore.

"You did well, you two. You've got good arms," Isla praised as we all headed back to camp a little way up into the woods and out of the clearing of the river. "We'll have a firearm lesson tomorrow, oh, actually, not tomorrow, I've gotta babysit the twins while May goes on the scout with the others. Day after tomorrow?"

I liked making plans. It made everything feel more under control. So I grinned and nodded.

"Yeah," Patrick said, slightly nervously. Clearly the gunfire had spooked him too.

The run was back like Isla had predicted. But Jason and the other few members of our group hadn't come back alone...

Six men were with them.

They all were around twenty to thirty years old. Two were brothers, and the other four were just... the other four, I guess. They seemed friendly. Talked to us all, smiled, shared food, gas and supplies. They said they used to be work partners, and when the world went to shit (at that moment Isla covered my ears to jestfully patronise me) they had stayed together in their work place until things settled down, but whenit never did, they tried to help each other get back to their families, but that didn't work, so, they just sort of ended up together, wandering until they found a place. Normal.

So no one thought much more of them. I definitely didn't.

_~ The Next Day ~_

The sun was still up, soon to go down as it was only a little while before sunset, keeping that last part of the day just warm enough not to be freezing. This was the difference between Kentucky and Virginia. I knew at this time of year, home would've been bitterly cold. Still, I missed it. I missed home and my parents and...

I shook my head to stop the nostalgia, focussing on helping Isla wash the dishes over by the river, using the bitterly cold water to clean them all. The twins that she was babysitting were at the water. A young girl and her brother, Lilly and Harry. Both were a spitting image of each other, blond hair, fair skin, brown eyes, small and hilarious pretty much all the time. At that moment they were playing with the pebbles. _Big Mack Burgers _was what they were calling what was essentially two pebbles slapped together with an array of moss and reeds and grass stuffed between them But Lilly and Harry were happy, which was enough in its self. Patrick was back in the camp, doing whatever he was supposed to be doing with Jason like usual. The two had become somewhat of a pair. They would sort supplies, Jason would give advice to him, and other things like that. Like son and father. Patrick looked up to him. I just think he wished that our real dad was a little more like him. I mostly stuck to Isla. She was quiet and determined, and we could work on something for hours and not say a word but be just as understanding of one another.

At that moment though, I was laughing at Isla because she's managed to splash herself with the soapy water that we had in a tub between us, and the front of her afro flopped forwards at a funny angle, dripping with the cold, bubbly water.

"Shut it, you," she chuckled.

I reached forward and pinged one of her curls, and as I let it go it flung back towards her head like a spring. "I thought my hair was curly," I giggled.

"Hey, just because it's curly doesn't give you the right to touch it!" she barked in jest.

"It's funny," I chuckled, then looked away to scrub at a bowl.

She grinned and shook her head in jest.

"Hey."

We turned to see one of the men who arrived the day before. He was around twenty-five, had dark hair and was slim and well built, slightly intimidating in a way that I wasn't sure was cool or scary.

"Hey, Vinny," Isla said.

"You're dad's askin' for you, said something about the ducks from yesterday."

"Oh, fuck, I bet he's trying to gut them himself."

"Looked like it."

"Crap, uh, Oliver, can you keep an eye on the twins?" she asked me.

I nodded. "Yeah. I'll be done in a minute. I'll bring them back with me when I finish."

She nodded. "Okay, I'll see you up there."

"Okay."

Then she rushed off, and I went back to scrubbing the dishes as the twins looked back to their "cooking" again, giggling and flinging reeds at one another.

"Just don't eat the burgers, guys. Okay?"

They giggled at me and said "Yes, Oliver," at the same time, as if the two eight-year-olds were the same person, or maybe two parts of one person. Either way it was funny and adorable at the same time.

"You want a hand, Kid?"

I jumped at Vinny's voice only a few feet behind me, because I thought he'd left already. "Oh. Um."

"Sorry," he laughed, "I didn't mean to sneak up on you."

"It's fine," I mumbled awkwardly.

"So, a hand?"

"Um," I was scared to say no to be honest. I was fine on my own, as I only had a few plates and bowls left, but Vinny kind of looked like the sort of person who would keep asking until I relented. "Yeah. Thanks."

He sat beside me, taking a sponge and continuing where Isla had left off.

For a little while we just kept doing the dishes in silence. Strange silence. I wasn't particularly afraid of him, and I knew that people from camp could see us from here if they looked past the trees... but I still felt uneasy. Like, I didn't want to breath too loud or move too much or look at anything other than what I was doing.

"You know, you're pretty good at that."

It took me a second to realise that he was even talking to me. "Oh, uh... washing the dishes?" I questioned.

He grinned and nodded. I didn't much like his smile, it was stiff and almost like an amused snarl, and his eyes looked like they were thinking too much about something he didn't want anyone to know about.

I furrowed my brow and looked back to the plate, quickly putting it beside me and getting another, self conscious as I washed it because I could see him in the corner of my eye still watching me...

"What?"

I didn't mean to sound so rude.

He grinned that stiff, snarl grin of his and shook his head innocently, amused by my snap.

I frowned as I looked back to my hands and kept cleaning.

"Your name's Patrick, right? Or are you the other one?"

"Um, the other one."

"Right." He didn't ask me what my name actually was like I thought he would. "How old are you, Kid?"

"Fourteen," I answered. Because answering grown up's questions was something I was supposed to do.

"Really? Gosh, I thought you were the older one."

I smiled then, not even meaning to, but that had always been a competition between Patrick and I, who looked older. Since both of us were pretty immature at the best of times. Also, up until recently I was taller than him, but he'd had a sudden growth spurt over the Summer last and so he was a good few inches taller than me now.

"I guess that's a compliment to you, huh?"

"I guess," I said, looking back to my chores again and straightening my expression again.

"Oh, you've got a little..."

Then his hand was against my chin, running the outside of his finger against it.

Reflexively, I flinched and recoiled away, making a gaspy noise that I didn't meant to let escape me.

"It's cool, Kid. It's just some dirt."

I tried to smile, looking for anything that could make this whole encounter any less uncomfortable. Because he was a grown up. I wasn't supposed to be rude to him.

But he tried to do it again, leaning over this time.

"Uhm... Sir," I blurted as I recoiled further, almost falling off of the stone I was sat on, "I'm, uh, I'm, gonna go."

"Hey," he cooed menacingly, grabbing my wrist as I tried to stand up.

My breath collapsed in my throat in my shock. But he was a grown up. I wasn't supposed to be rude. "Sir, I..."

"I'm not gonna hurt you, Kid. Just sit with me a sec. I've got something for you."

My jaw clenched and my brow was knitted into a tense frown. "What?" I asked. _He's a grown up. He's a grown up._

"You'll like it... Just don't tell," he said, but his voice made my spine crawl, suddenly sounding low and shrill and dark, and his hand took purchase further up my wrist on my forearm. "Come sit."

"Sorry," I apologised because I thought I had to, and I tried not to sound afraid in worry that it would offend him. "But, Sir, I'd actually like to go back now."

"Why?" He suddenly looked angry, holding me where I was, but being gentle enough for me not to realise it.

My heartbeat got so fast I was scared it would hammer right out of my chest. "Sir, please. I don't-... I should go back." But then his grip tightened, like a snake wrapping around its prey. "Sir, y-you're hurting me."

"Oliver?"

**Patrick's POV**

I knew something wasn't adding up. The moment Isla stormed over to me and Jason asking about the ducks that were still in the cooler since yesterday, demanding what on earth we were doing to them, only for us to say that we hadn't touched them. So she went ahead and showed us what to do, figuring she might as well... but I got worried, she'd mentioned that one of the new guys told her.

Call it Brother's Instinct or whatever, but I knew I needed to find him.

So I did.

"Sir, please. I don't," Oliver's voice sounded shrill and spooked, as if he was trying not to show it as I walked towards the river where he was dish washing. "I should go back."

That _Too Good To Be True Feeling_ was back, and it was scaring me. Terrifying me.

"Sir, y-you're hurting me."

"Oliver?" I called just as I rushed through the clearing, freezing in my tracks as I saw.

Instantly, the Scum Bag retreated away from my little brother, letting go of his arm to wash the dishes, and Oliver hurried over to me, tripping over his feet and his face pale as paper.

"Patrick, h-hey." I knew he was scared because he'd used my full first name.

"Lilly, Harry. C'mon. Uh, Isla wants you," I lied, not trusting the man to be alone with them at all.

The two siblings carefully put their rocks and weeds down into the water and then skipped over to me, slightly soaked from the stomach down in river water, but happy all the same.

"You okay?" I asked Oliver worriedly when Lilly and Harry were close enough for me to take one of their hands in each of mine, glaring from my brother to Vinny.

"Yeah."

He sounded confused and adrenaline fuelled, and it only made me all the more afraid. Oliver too was spooked, clearly, but it was obvious that he didn't really understand at all what was going on, and I was afraid that I did... not wanting to believe it.

He rubbed his arm, and I could see the red and white on it from the grip Vinny had on it, "Just, doing chores," Oliver added, his breath short and his expression muddled.

"C'mon, you two," I faked my cheer to the kids, ignoring Vinny as he narrowed his eyes over his shoulder at the four of us. I looked at my brother, gesturing my head to camp. "Let's head back. We'll do chores together later. Okay?"

He nodded, unable to smile or blink or let go of his arm. "O-okay."

_~ Later That Evening ~_

We hadn't said anything. We didn't know how to. Vinny hadn't actually done anything to Oliver. So Oliver didn't think it needed to be a big deal, and he was scared that it would be more trouble getting everyone worried for nothing... so... we just sort of left it alone...

For hours my mind had been reeling over if that was the right thing to do... and it was driving me insane. Absolutely insane.

"Are you still thinking about what happened?"

Oliver's voice shook me from my thoughts, wrenched me from them. His voice was so innocent and quiet and tired, but obviously what had happened was still on his mind, even if it was more worried about what I thought of it all rather than what he did.

"Yeah," I whispered through the blanket that we were sharing.

He tapped his index finger against the floor of the tent four times. "What was he trying to do?"

I felt guilty. I'm not sure why. Maybe because I wished that I could have gotten their sooner, or maybe I was guilty for everything that this world was making my younger brother go through, and everything he still didn't understand about it that he needed to learn in order to live not.. to survive. But I wanted it not to be so bad for him... to be not so scary and confusing. I wanted to do something that would comfort him, bring back that stupid smile.

So I sat up, pulling Oliver to sit up too.

"Fort."

It was all I had to say for him to understand.

We threw up the fabric of our blanket and it floated in the air like a sting ray under water, and then as it fell, dived, we guided it to sit right, and a moment later, after slightly awkward shuffling and fluffing at the blanket, the two of us were comfortably under the sheet, sat opposite with out legs crossed and grins on our faces, just like we did as kids, safe and sound.

"You don't need to worry about that. Okay?"

Oliver nodded, smiling. "Thanks, for getting me out of it."

I shrugged, "It's what brother's are meant for. That guy was a creep."

"Yeah. You're a good brother."

I smiled gratefully. He'd never said that before, and for a stupid moment I was worried I'd choke up.

A moment passed, and Oliver's face fell slightly.

"You okay?"

He nodded, but I knew he didn't mean it, and after a moment of me silently insisting he spilled, he finally did.

". . . Do you think he'll do it again?"

There.

That was why I needed to tell someone.

Oliver was still worried... still afraid that, whatever it was Vinny was trying to do, would happen again.

That was unacceptable...

"No."

Oliver smiled.

"No," I said again, "it won't. I'm gonna make sure of that. Right now. I'll be back in a second."

"What?" Oliver stuttered. "Now? W-what're you gonna do."

"I'm gonna tell Jason. He'll know what to do."

"W-what? What if those men get mad? They're friends."

"I don't care. If you don't feel safe, Jason'll understand."

**Oliver's POV**

Patrick was gone before I could say anything else.

I was left in our tent, under our fort like a child. But Patrick was right... Jason would know what to do. He'd probably tell Vinny that I got uncomfortable around him earlier and to be a little... less close... to me in the future.

So I stayed where I was for a long time, trying not to worry about how anyone would react in camp, if it was even anything worth reacting to at all. I mean, maybe I was just overreacting. I hoped that it wouldn't upset him. For all I knew Vinny was only trying to get the dirt smudge off of me... But I wasn't sure. It scared me, and even though I wanted to leave, I thought he wouldn't let me... That's not what grown ups were supposed to do.

It was a while before Patrick finally got back, and when he did he didn't say anything. Instead he stumbled into our tent, panting and heaving his breath.

"Pat?" I was still under the damned blanket so I couldn't see anything.

But then he ripped it away from me and stuffed it into our supply bag.

"Hey!" I hissed, pushing myself back up, because in his roughness he'd knocked me over.

"Shh!" he urged desperately, pressing his hand over my mouth, but then he let go, clambering away as if what he was doing to me had made him see Death itself.

That was when I saw his face. White. Terrified.

"We have to go."

His voice was shrill and dry and horrified. So alien that I felt like I'd never heard it before, and it was only because I could see him that I knew he was my brother.

"Pat?" I uttered, suddenly scared by him.

"We. Have. To go."

I didn't say anything else, knowing that for him to be so disturbed was more than serious. My heart began to pound and the colour drained from my face and limbs, mimicking his terror like the little brother I was.

We got our things quickly, but we didn't unpack the tent or go and get food like we should have if we were leaving for a while, because, it had to only be a little while. Because we liked it here. We were gonna stay here longer than just a few weeks this time.

But Patrick just took my hand, something he hadn't done since we were kids, and it only terrified me more as he led me to what was sort of the car park of our camp, away from the tents that housed our sleeping group.

We crept to Jason's truck, and Patrick stayed low, stopping me next to it.

"What're we doing h-?"

But I realised that Patrick was holding Jason's keys... But it wasn't the keys I was focussed on...

Blood.

There was some on them, shining scarlet against silver metal, and a droplet was smeared over the back of Patrick's hand.

"What...?" I couldn't finish, so I pointed.

"Nyuh," he flinched, panting as he wiped it away on his jeans, suddenly gagging a few times before he settled himself.

"Who's is that?"

"Nothing. It's from those ducks." Patrick was lying, and his hands shook as he pushed the key into the door as carefully as he could, tears welling in his eyes and his expression spilling with his trauma.

"Pat, what did you do?"

"Get in the car, Oliver."

I froze.

" . . . Now. "

I did, shaking and terrified.

Patrick got in the driver's seat and then twisted the key under the wheel, pushing his foot down on a pedal I didn't know what its function was for.

We both jumped as the truck grumbled into action.

He drove along the river edge, out of eye shot from camp, and he kept the headlights off and was jumpy and terrified for the whole time. Until finally, almost an entire hour later, he only eased up when we drove out of The Park, breaking down the chain link fence to do it.

"Pat, what happened?"

He didn't look at me as he spoke. "Don't, Oliver. Just don't think about it anymore. It's over now. Like before."

"No! Patrick, talk to me!"

"Nothing. Leave it."

_Safety was something I was scared he would kill for... _"Did you kill him?"

"N-no."

"Then why do you have his keys? And why was there blood on them?"

"Stop. Don't ask anymore questions, Oliver. Ol-" he was half pleading.

But I snapped. "Patrick, talk to me!"

"OLIVER!" he roared, suddenly stopping the car and glaring furiously at me even as we both lurched forward. Tears spilled from his eyes and his chin shook violently, making him grimace. "LEAVE IT ALONE NOW!"

I was wheezing, and he grabbed my inhaler from my pack in my lap and gave it to me, ignoring how both of our entire bodies trembled.

"Take it."

I did as I was told.

"Look," he sighed shakily, forcing himself to calm, "th-there... There are some things... Some things that you don't need to know... Okay?"

I didn't answer, just focussed on breathing.

"Okay, Oliver?"

I took a long time to answer, and when I did my voice shook in my throat. "One question."

His jaw tensed.

"Please? Just one?" I whimpered.

He swallowed in relent.

"Is he and Isla okay?"

Patrick's head hung, and he shook his head. "I don't know."

". . . Will they be?"

For a long time I thought he'd burst out crying. Explode with his grief. But he fought it, so hard.

". . . You said one question."

That was all he muttered before he looked away, wiped his face, and started up the engine again.

I didn't say anything else. I got it, maybe not all of it, or even a little part of it... But I knew that whatever my brother had seen that night, it was bad... Real bad. Enough to drive him to desert the people that we'd known for three days, made friends with and respected and cared about.

So like usual... we were on the road again.

Asking no more questions. Just... searching...

Searching for safety.

**Patrick's POV**

Gutted.

That's what he was.

I thought it was only the dead that did that to the living anymore.

But the living were just as bad... worse.

I got it now. I understood how it was that we were going to have to live... Survive.

We fought the dead and feared the living.

_~ Back To Earlier ~_

Jason's tent was on the other side of camp a little way away from the main bulk of tents nearer the food. I walked right through to get there, not noticing anything out of place or unusual. I saw the dark stain on the bottom of his tent when I got close enough, but I thought he must have just spilt something.

"Mr. Drew?"

I definitely heard something, and I waited a moment, kind of worried that he was sleeping or something.

"Mr Drew, I was just wondering if I could talk to you about something. I would wait until morning, but... But it's important."

Again, there was a shuffle, but he didn't invite me in like he usually would've by now, and it was only when I pulled back the zip that I saw why. I almost screamed. My mouth fell agape, but no noise escaped me as I stared wide eyed at him in horror.

His stomach was slit open, one clean cut through his abdomen, and his entrails spilled over him as he slumped against the wall of the tent.

Then... he moved, noticing me and reaching out for me.

I gasped in horror, falling backwards onto my ass. I grabbed my knife, readying myself to take out his biter, confused and terrified. Oliver and I had figured out that there didn't need to be a bite or scratch for a person to turn. Just dying was all it took. But a biter was the only thing I could think of for why he was in this state. But there was no biter-culprit around from what I knew, and Jason hadn't been eaten... he'd been slit open... with a blade from a living hand.

I tried not to think of that anymore, only thinking of what I knew I needed to do to put him our of his undead misery, taking out my knife to do so.

But then...

"P-Patrick..."

The dead, at rest or their walking corpses, had never been able to talk. No, Jason was alive. He was murmuring for me, shuffling in his tent.

I wanted to run, I wanted to hide and never come out again, but I went back in when he begged for me again, my blood frozen and my mind convulsing in horror.

"Wh-where's Isla..."

"I don't..." I stuttered, watching as his blood spilled from his lips and he could hardly hold his eyes open. "I don't know where she is."

But he shook his head, tears streaming down his blood stained face, "You gotta find 'er... my baby girl... they're gonna get her first... my baby girl..."

My expression contorted, tears streaming down my face.

"Find 'er. F-find my g-girl... please?"

My breath caught as I nodded, "Yeah, yeah," I muttered a few times, panicking and trying not to show it, trying not to think that he was dying. Trying not to think of who could have done this to him.

"Keys. I-in, m-my pocket."

I did as I was told, pulling out his car keys, not noticing as a bit of his blood leaked onto the back of my hand.

"Find Isla. She'll... sh-she'll keep you safe, you 'n' Oliver."

My heart froze, and Jason jolted his head, wincing and crying as he urged me to leave.

"I should..." my sentence died in my throat. "Bandage," I said stupidly. Knowing... but not wanting to know. "I should find you a bandage. You'll be fine."

Jason winced, "Go. G-get out o' here. Find... Find …"

But he went still, the last word leaving him as he exhaled and never inhaled afterwards, and his eyes remained open and empty. Dead.

I made to leave, pushing myself backwards towards the exit of the tent, but then something grabbed me. A hand. Suddenly gripping the back of my shirt and shoving me out, forcing my knife from my hand at the same time with impossible speed and strength.

"Ak-!"

My scream was muffled against a palm, cold and hard, suffocating me, and my whole body was shoved backwards into a solid structure that shook my whole anatomy, a tree, and he was breathing heavily into my face, glaring like The Devil.

I tried to kick out at him, struggling against him, but Vinny's hold tightening around my face and chest, and then, my own blade was pressed against my throat, so fast that I couldn't do anything about it at all.

"Shh!" he hissed in my ear, shoving me harder against the tree just outside of the tent entrance. "Now. You're gonna be quiet. Okay? Or I'm gonna slit you up like I did him."

Terror plagued every part of me like a disease, and I stared at him, pressed roughly against the tree trunk, panting and whimpering and struggling against his palm.

"What were you thinking, that you could just skip on over here and tell on me and my boys?" Vinny grimaced. "Who do you think you are, Kid?"

I shook my head, crying into his hand and scrunching my eyes shut in my fear. "Leh hmm hhgo!" I begged, managing to pull my face from his grasp. Wishing that someone would hear me, but knowing that Jason's tent was too far away.

But before I could scream, Vinny's grip fastened, and I felt the sharp, cold surface of my blade slither against the centre of my throat. "You gonna be quiet?" Vinny asked again."That's your first warning."

I nodded, sobbing silently and pathetically.

He let go, and I sucked in a deep, much needed dose of oxygen, trying to keep as much distance from my jugular and my knife in his hand.

"Please? Pl-"

"What did I tell you? Second warning. A third and y'aren't gonna see the sun."

I winced, shutting my eyes as I felt my knife again.

"Now stay quiet. And stay still. This doesn't have to be difficult unless you make it so."

I was shaking my head, silently begging him to leave me alone. But I heard his jeans unbuckle...

Then mine.

"No," I squeaked, so terrified that my voice didn't work anymore. My throat closed, and I looked away, crying and helpless.

Vinny's breathing sounded like Velcro, hissing his breath in my ear, and his body repulsed me as he pressed his weight against me.

The tent moved.

I wasn't sure if I'd seen it. My eyes were hardly open, and I was trying to push Vinny away, only for him to shove me against the tree until the bark dug into my spine, and his hand was there. Doing something that I don't have words for, that I never want to have to describe, and I didn't let myself look, blurring him away as I stared at the orange canvas behind him, in front of me.

It moved again. This time with a gargle.

There was a light in there from the solar lamp, and a shadow slowly cast across it, dripping and shuffling and pushing. Until I saw him. It. Jason's corps, risen from his grave to hunt the living, and he could hear his targets, whimpering and hissing beside the tent he's reanimated in, and he was gargling as he climbed out from it, his dead eyes dragging across the gloom to search for us.

He saw us, snapping his jaw in anticipation. Vinny hadn't heard, and so I pretended that nothing was there, turning my attention to him and grimacing as I tried to kick out at him again, slyly and terrifyingly positioning him to be the first course meal that Jason would take, and he didn't notice, not as Jason ambled towards us, not as he growled for our flesh, not even as he grabbed his shoulder... no, it wasn't until Jason sunk his teeth into the rotten bastard's neck that he finally did notice, and he noticed everything, falling back with his attacker and letting go of me.

I fell to the floor, heaving and gagging and crying and choking in my horror.

Jason was merciless, and Vinny couldn't even cry out as he was devoured throat first. His arms reached out to me, as if he begging asking for help. I would have spat on him if Jason wasn't there in the way, for I had more respect for the biter than I did that monster.

I grabbed my knife. I knew now was my only chance to run, and so with trembling fingers I did up my jeans again, thanking everything left in the world that he hadn't gotten far enough... that I hadn't been... That Jason...

But I started crying, so horribly relieved and grieved and terrified as I watched Vinny get eaten only a few feet away from me.

My friend was dead. Another person to tick off the list. But he'd given me orders, and I knew I needed to honer them. So I clambered away from the tent, falling over my own feet in my franticness. My mind reeled as I looked around me, everything feeling sharp and dark and dangerous. Mine and Oliver's tent was nearer the outskirts of the camp, but even so I was terrified that the other men would go after him, especially if he was alone. But Isla's tent was on the way there, and I was glad because I knew that I would have ran straight for him if it wasn't.

But I knew as I got closer to Isla's tent... something was wrong.

I heard the whimper first. Her agonising cries and strangled screaming.

I was too late.

Dread swallowed me. But then I heard someone else, struggling with something as they were about to walk around another tent next door, and I clambered into cover behind an old car out of their sights, pinning my stomach to the floor and forcing myself not to scream. I saw two pairs of feet, recognising the black pair of boots as one of the other new guys, Vinny's friend, and then I saw a smaller pair of sneakers, dragging along and trying desperately to ground themselves. For a terrible moment my heart froze, thinking it was Oliver, and I almost blew my cover to save him. But then the vile monster threw the person on the floor and I saw that it was Lilly, one of the twins, covered in what I could only guess was her brother and mother's blood.

She was only eight years old.

Eight fucking years old.

But I didn't save her.

I could hear Isla, still being violated in her tent, and the other three laughing in there too, and the little girl as she tried to scream into her terroriser's hand.

But I ran.

Like a coward... A dirty, rotten coward.

I should have warned the others. I should have tried to help them fight back...

But I kept running.

Right to my brother.

**Oliver's POV**

_~ Back To Before ~_

The early morning country side rolled past, and neither of us had slept for the whole night. I watched the yellow-gold morning roll across the sky as we drove, the light too bright and excited for the mood, and the rumble of the engine acted as the only thing keeping me from breaking all together, focussing on it... Focussing on little things like that like the overgrown hedge rows as we passed them, trying to spot individual leaves or twigs, and odd biters in the distance wandering across the empty Earth, and how my machete tapped against my leg from the movement of the vehicle.

"Where are we going?" I finally asked, my voice dry and raw and barely a whisper.

Patrick sighed, slowly turning his gaze to me and letting a reassuring smile pull at one corner of his mouth.

" Atlanta City. "

**Notes**

So yeah, I guess Oliver kind of did end up sort of, almost, not really coming out of the closet to Patrick. I liked that it wasn't a big deal at all, like a lot of times it is when people come out to their families, and even though it wasn't a real answer, I liked how Patrick wasn't really bothered at all, just asking :)

Ooh, you'll learn more about this mysterious Taylor one day. I actually haven't planned it at all. I purposely chose a unisex name because I don't even know if Taylor is a boy or a girl yet.

Yeah, so, this chapter started of really fun to write. Really fun. I loved Patrick driving and Oliver throwing up and Isla and the duck shooting. Wrote all that in about half a day. But then it started getting dark. So dark that it has taken be almost a week to finish everything onward because I've literally been so reluctant to finish it from what I was gonna put the characters through. Not fun, disturbing, and I don't think I can write like that ever again. But you know, what's a writer unless she challenges herself? So yeah. I hope it turned out alright :) *haggard smile*

Vinny; for one, he was disgusting. I wanted to slice off his balls. But anyway, he was inspired by a character from a terrifying movie called "Hard Candy". I wasn't too sure how to make a villain like him other than Dan fro the show. But I saw the movie a little while ago and it clicked this chapter into place. Seriously, watch it. It's fucking skin chilling, but it's so damned good.

Again, super thank you to **BurningFireBird **for the inspiration to this chapter!

**Preview: The next chapter is a lot more "feel goody" :) Back at The Prison with Carl, and will be called "Aesthetically Pleasing". Assume ****with that information what you want. XD**

**As always,**

**Happy reading xx :****_)_**


	16. Aesthetically Pleasing

**Guest **Thank you so much! It was such a challenge. And yeah. I see. It definitely makes sense that Patrick would want to one day confess what really happened at the camp. But I don't think I could without it being unrealistic, because Oliver would have at least thought about it in the story already. I think that if Patrick had lived a little longer he would have told his brother, but because he died so suddenly he just never got the chance, and everything he saw and did and went through to keep Oliver safe just sort of died as a secret with him. Which is sad. But I like to think that makes him even more of a hero, because he didn't seek gratitude or acknowledgement for his actions. Just the safety of his brother was enough for him. Uh, now I'm nostalgic. RIP Patrick :,( In the end it did kind of shelter Oliver too much, like you said, which was why he didn't put two and two together when he was grabbed by Dan. So he found out what people were capable of in that whole awful situation. Sadly. But yeah. Thank you so freaking much! Your support is amazing!

**TheDarkerSide123 **Haha, thank you. Yes, it is the most disturbing thing I've written so far. It was a cool change, writing dark stuff. Can't say I'll do it often, but it's fun to just let that terrifying dark part of your brain spew evilness all over the place. Haha, that was the best I could do! :D Thank you! I'm really using this series to go into more depth with things like that that I'd glossed over a little in the main fanfiction :) Thank you! Thank you!

_Just over a month since they explored the tombs. A few days since the "Crushing" chapter. Mere days until The Attack. _

_Oliver is fifteen-years-old._

_Over a week into December._

Carl Grimes had been blessed with nice, handsome features. Slim form, budding tone in his muscles, long, brown hair, a curved, yet, defined jaw, full lips, freckled, fair skin, and piercing blue eyes that were so bright and electrifying that they were almost intimidating. I'd have called him _Aesthetically Pleasing_, but it wasn't merely that at all...

He was spellbinding.

Absolutely spellbinding, and it took a lot of my concentration not to look like I was completely swooning over him every time he made eye contact with me. But, God... those eyes. They were... They were so...

"Oliver."

"Yes!" I startled, flinching at my name from the boy I most definitely was _**not**_ swooning over. "Huh?"

He rolled his eyes - those mesmerising, blue eyes - and then said something. But those eyes...

"Oliver!"

Again, I startled.

"Goddamn it! Listen to me! What is up with you today? You're so distracted."

I shook my head, my voice leaving me as if it were kicking and screaming not to compile. "No, nothing. I'm just... you know, it's. Um, tired. I'm tired." A mess. That was what I was.

"Story Time and servin' deer really that strainin', huh?"

_Yes! _I scoffed in defence, "No."

He cocked an eyebrow.

"I'm just tired, Carl."

"'Tired' never just means 'tired'," he said. "'Tired' is always code for 'bored', or 'miserable', or 'hating everything'."

"No it isn't," I said truthfully, in my case anyway, as I am sure other times that he had said it he meant exactly all of those other options. But I didn't say that.

"Then c'mon, tell me, d'you think it is?"

"Is what?"

He rolled his eyes so dramatically that I was sure they would tumble right out of their sockets. "You know what? I'll just ask Dad or someone. You clearly aren't listening to me at all."

"I am! I mean, I swear I will. Just, say it again...? Please? I'll listen, I swear."

He sighed, smirking despite the fact that he was supposed to be mad at me. "I was thinkin' of making a kinda bird house for the garden. Hershel's been going on about it for months, saying the birds'll help, but he never actually does it. I'm sick of him looking at me like he's waiting for me to. So I jus' wanna get it over and done with for him."

I couldn't help but grin. "You sounds like me when I used to talk about my grandpa." I would have called him _Nonno, _but I knew Carl wouldn't know what I was talking about and I felt too lazy to explain.

Carl rolled his eyes and scoffed. "I sometimes can't decide if I think he's brilliant or infuriating."

I was still grinning, "I know the feeling." I wasn't just talking about my grandpa that time either. "Well, um, I saw a picture in a gardening magazine once where-"

"You read a gardening magazine?"

"Yeah."

He shorted.

"What? It was all that was left, and I was bored and desperate."

Carl laughed.

"Anyway, they'd made, like, a collection of hanging birdhouses from milk cartons and stuff like that, tied them up together a little way apart on a tree. There's no trees in the front yard, so, you'd have to use something from the scrap area like before."

"Yeah, we could," Carl said, seemingly he'd already assumed I would help him. "There're no milk cartons though. But we could use some o' the hollow instruments for the houses. You know, those funny, round shaped ones with the beads and paint over them?"

"African gourds," I corrected him, looking a little offended for his eagerness to mutilate such beautiful instruments. But I held my tongue, not wanting to sound like a dork.

"Yeah, an' I'll carve holes in them."

I absolutely did not frown. "Um. You should ask Hershel, he might have something better to use," I said instead, hoping that maybe the older man would respect the instruments enough to say no to Carl like I was unable to, because the teenager was so uncommonly determined for this. It was nice.

"Okay." Carl nodded.

We heard the cell block door open as someone walked in, and I shivered as the Winter air leaked all the way into Carl's cell.

"Cold?"

I nodded, "Yeah. I'm gonna head back to my cell and get something warmer." I was only wearing a thin long sleeve because it wasn't all that cold a few hours ago when I got to C-Block.

"Nah, jus' use one of mine." I watched as he pulled out one of his purple and blue flannel shirts and a jacket, pursing his lips as he handed them over. "Here."

"Um, thanks," I said, pulling them on.

"So, you doin' anything today?"

I shrugged. "Not really. Wanna do something?"

He nodded. "Got any ideas?"

I grinned and nodded immediately. "I'm reading this book, but in it the characters had to use each other to make a sort of structure, thing. I wa-"

"Oliver, I'm not spending another day reading."

"No, no, you didn't let me finish."

He narrowed his eyes sceptically, letting out a very slow, "Okay," as he exhaled.

"We should try it?"

"Try what?"

"The structure thingy they did in the story," I answered.

"How...?"

I shrugged, "Dunno. I guess how they did it?"

"How'd they do it?" To be honest I was surprised he was going along with it. I'd expected him to refuse straight away.

"Well, seeing as they were in a space academy with zero gravity, I'm not sure it'd be possible to do it exactly the same way."

"You're still reading _Ender's Game_?" he figured.

I nodded, smiling.

"You read so slowly. I've read two books already since _Holes_."

I pulled a sceptical face. "I swear you don't even read them. You just skim through pages." It wasn't true, I knew that. Carl read at a normal pace. I, on the other hand, had always made an effort to overly savour a book, taking in every last detail until I could almost recite it.

Carl rolled his eyes. "No. I'm just a fast reader. Oh, I tried looking for _Butterfly Lion_ in the library yesterday and couldn't find it in there. You still got it?"

My face dropped. "Um..."_ Butterfly Lion_ was still in my cell. Under my bed with all the rest of the books that had mysteriously gone astray around The Prison and would one day turn up again (once their captive finally got the guts to let them go back).

Carl grinned, as if he was reading my thoughts. "Exactly how many books _are_ in your cell?"

"None," I lied, almost forcing the word out.

His eyebrows flew up.

"I mean, j-just a few. Uh, come on, go find another chair and we can try this structure thing." _ChangethesubjectChangethesubjectChangethesubject!_

He gave me a sceptical look, but he seemed too excited to be stubborn. Which had to be a first. So he stood up, wandering out into the cell block for a moment. I heard him grunt slightly as he lifted what I'd asked for, and then a moment later I saw that he had borrowed his father's chair from his cell a few doors down. I grabbed his chair that sat in the corner of the room by his bedside table, and we put the chairs on either side of the cell closest to the door. I climbed up onto the one on the right, motioning him to stand on the left chair. I was tall enough that my head just pressed against the ceiling, and Carl's barely skimmed it as he was only a little shorter than me.

"What now?" he asked.

I was unable to shake the grin from my face as I stood on the chair, facing him as he did the same opposite me, as if we were getting ready to waltz or something, sort of feeling all nervous and excited and happy. So I put my hands up, extending them towards him slightly so that they made an arch over my head like one half of a lob-sided bridge.

"Okay, you gotta press your palms against mine. In the book their were like twenty characters doing it. So, we'll just have to make do with two. I'll be Ender and you'll be Petra." I don't know why he looked so shocked, it wasn't a rare thing to see me so into something. But I didn't ask, knowing that if I did he would most likely back out of doing this if I did, so I smiled, and he let me get carried away in my play. "I'll stay where I am, but you, you should lean over, so that I've gotta support you while you do."

"I've gotta read that book," he said nervously.

I grinned, then gestured my hands to him again.

"And, why do I have to lean first?"

"Because I thought of it," I said matter-of-factly.

"No, you just repeated it from a story."

"Just do it, Petra Arkanian."

"Fanboy," he grumbled in subtle jest, and then slowly and timidly reached over towards me. "Don't drop me. My cell floor's not the nicest surface to splat on."

I smirked, and as his palms pressed against mine, my arms and his were rigid and hardly moved, and I had to admit, it did feel a lot safer than I thought I would, and by him leaning further into me, I knew he felt just as safe. So he leant further, not far enough that he couldn't save myself should it come to that, but far enough to make my stomach do small lurches whenever Carl wobbled or my hands jolted slightly.

"I got you. I swear," I said.

He narrowed his eyes at me, wobbling as the back of his chair jolted against the wall.

"Just keep leaning," I encouraged.

"How far?"

"Well, Petra, the girl in the story, she l-"

"Petra's a girl?!"

I furrowed my brow and nodded, a little confused.

"Why am I the girl?" he argued.

I chuckled, "It's okay. She's a cool character."

"Oh, that makes it okay then," he said sarcastically. Sarcasm was something I'd noticed him doing a little more lately.

"Yes, duh."

He rolled his eyes.

"Anyway. Petra, _the cool, girl, character,_ leant so far that she was upside-down."

"You can't go upside-down in zero gravity, Genius," Carl grumbled. But he was grinning, broader than I had ever seen him. It was nice. Only adding to that whole _Aesthetically pleasing _thing he already had going for him.

"Shut up, Dork," I chuckled. "Just lean. You're doin' better than I thought."

Taking that as a compliment, he did as I said, pursing his lips in concentration as we sort of worked as a team to see how far we could go without falling. Until he was so far over that he wouldn't have been able to save himself anymore, but, he didn't seem to even mind...

I could feel Carl's arms trembling slightly as he adjusted their position, feeling me mirror his adjustment to accommodate his weight, but he was doing well, and so he kept leaning further, and further, until he couldn't anymore because we were so close that it should have been awkward.

But then I realised...

It wasn't.

I wasn't really sure why it wasn't. Usually it would have been, and we would have pulled away and pretended that we didn't have butterflies. But that time... I didn't know why it wasn't awkward. Maybe it was because we had an excuse to be so close, and so we took advantage of it as we pointlessly continued our exercise together. Locking our fingers and grinning and chuckling and grunting as we balanced against each other, and our faces were so close that when we took a sharp breath out, each other's fringe would blow out of the way a little.

"Oliver," Carl blurted suddenly.

"Yeah?" I grunted, pursing my lips in concentration as I gripped his hands and supported him.

He didn't answer for a moment, so I lifted my head slightly and looked at him, as his head was directly beside mine, so close that if he leant forward he could rest his forehead on my shoulder... or kiss me.

But then my breath caught, because his eyes were black, and he wasn't smiling anymore, instead, his expression was serious and deep, and his breathing was quickening through his parted lips with ever second, twitching them as if he was silently trying to say everything he was thinking...

I wanted to ask if he was okay, but my mind wouldn't form the words and I couldn't stop staring, wondering somewhere in the forbidden part at the back of my head... if he would rest his head on my shoulder... or if he would kiss me...

But then...

He _was_ leaning closer...

Gently tightening his fingers around mine almost as if he didn't even realise it.

One more second...

One more second and something that neither of us had thought would ever happened would have happened. But it didn't. Because there would always have to be something... someone to come along...

"Carl, d'you know where the nail cl-"

Carol's voice was all it took to snap us out of whatever mysterious web we had snared ourselves in, causing us both to startle horrifically, and it was one small jolt of Carl's foot to cause his chair to suddenly opt out of life and cave out from under him with a loud snap.

"GYAHH!"

"Car-hnyah!"

We both fell off of out chairs, too caught off guard to even let go of each other as we landed in a messy, tangled heap with a series of smacks and clatters and grunts and yelps as we hit the solid, cold, cell floor.

"Oh, boys!" Carol jumped, smacking her hand to her mouth as she stared in shock at us.

My cheeks heated up so fast that it stung, and for a moment I felt like we'd been caught doing something we shouldn't.

"What is goin' on in here?" she asked incredulously, completely befuddled as she watched Carl and I untangle from each other and clamber to our feet, our cheeks flushed and eyes wide and mouths hanging open in muddled shock and adrenaline and suppressed intimacy that we were ruthlessly swallowing back down into our stomachs.

"Nothing," Carl blurted, pressing the back of his hand over his mouth as if he was scolding it for what it had just tried to do, frowning and looking almost afraid of what he would do if he let go.

Carol chuckled without meaning to. "I'm sure there are easier ways to do gymnastics around here, boys. Ways that won't involve... _collateral damage_," she mused as she picked up a baseball glove that I had knocked off of the sink in my fall.

I tried to decide if I wanted to laugh or cry, rubbing my aching arm and knowing I would get a good bruise there later. Carl looked away, rubbing a graze on his elbow that was bleeding slightly.

"Do you want a band-aid for that?" she offered.

He shook his head, still pressing the back of his hand over his mouth.

Carol took his hint, exchanging on last amused glance with me before returning her focus to what she wanted. "I was jus' wondering if you had the nail clippers in here?"

Carl nodded, stepping over to his beside to grab them from the drawer before handing them over.

"Thanks," she smiled, then gestured to the baseball mitt I'd dropped before. "Hey, why don't you both go out to the courtyard. Some of the others're playing baseball right now."

"N-" Carl began to decline.

"Yes, Ma'am," I interrupted him, grabbing the mitt and gesturing him to follow, but when he frowned, I widened my eyes at him and tensed my mouth, passive aggressively giving him no choice, so he rolled his eyes and followed me. "See you later for chores?"

"Yep," she said as she headed back to her cell.

"I don't wanna play baseball," Carl grumbled as we got out of C-Block.

"I only said that because Carol would've made us help sort the supplies otherwise."

"I'd rather sort the supplies."

I snorted, nodding sarcastically, "Of course you would."

"Wait, then what're we gonna do instead?"

I grinned at the sudden anticipation on his expression, "You know over by Guard Tower One, by the bank?"

He nodded.

"It overlooks the river, well, for weeks I've wanted to go up there."

"In the guard tower?"

"No, the bank. Do you think it's possible to skip stones through the fence from there? It's just next to it."

"Skip?"

"You know, when you throw a stone really hard and it bounces across the water?"

He just looked at me as if I was making it up.

"You've never done that?"

"No. It sounds like you're messing with me."

"I'm not, Carl."

He paused, walking with me towards the guard tower, and I could see Glenn up there on watch with a pair of binoculars looking over the outside and beyond. A place that I had no intentions of ever going to again.

"Have you done it? You know, skipped stones?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah, a few times back home. I wasn't very good. But Penelope was. Counted seven once."

Carl obviously had no idea what that meant, and I couldn't help but find it funny.

We got to the bank, the river just by the fence where it always was. The graveyard was just below it, and Carl's eyes lingered on it. It suddenly dawned on me that his mother was down there... I was about to apologise, tell him that we didn't need to be here. But he'd worked on the gardens for over half a year, I guess he was just used to it by now, and so he just glanced back at me, oblivious to my worry and beckoned me to keep walking with him.

The bank was a lot steeper than it looked, but we got up there and were high enough that any walkers didn't really notice us, and any that did weren't really all that troubling seeing as walkers were lining all along the fence anyway. But not too many saw us, so we didn't worry too much about it.

I picked up a stone, taking aim and then flicking my wrist as hard as I could. But it hit the fence, making a loud clang as stone collided with metal.

"Dammit," I muttered, glaring at Carl when he scoffed.

I tried again, but a walker's head got in the way and the stupid thing slumped backwards onto its ass, only to stand up again and claw at the fence angrily.

I thought Carl would laugh at that, but he just sort of glared at the living-corps, and I realised I was looking at it with equal disapproval as well.

"We'll throw over," I said. "See who can get their stone the furthest."

Carl and I picked up a stone each, poising our legs and bodies to throw.

"One. Two... Throw!"

We both threw as hard as we could, and the stones flew above the fence and descended into the water. Making two splashes and his landed only just further than mine. The next throw, mine got furthest. I could tell he was getting competitive because immediately after we'd throw he'd picked up another stone, with this determines grin on his face as he waited for me to be ready. So we continued like this, losing track of who was winning after enough time, but to be honest I was just glad I was having fun, glad that he was too.

We stayed out for a while, eventually both taking a seat beside each other on the bank. I was on my back, knees bent and absentmindedly throwing stones high enough up into the air to get over the fence, but not giving enough effort for my stones to go very far, and so they would only hit the water a few feet away from the shore. Carl was beside me, legs crossed and tossing the stones over with just as lacked effort as me.

"You look half dead," he said to me.

"Yeah? Douche!" I growled, ripping some grass and dirt from the ground and throwing it at him, and he flinched, making a funny grunt as he tried to shield his face. "It's called sunbathing." I wasn't intentionally sunbathing. It was more just laziness.

He chuckled as he brushed off his chest.

"That's where you got shot isn't it?" I asked, glancing at where the scar must've still been on his sternum somewhere.

He nodded, pointing to the base of his ribcage on the right side.

I'd heard of the story, and so I just lead my head back and closed my eyes.

"Have you ever gotten hurt like that?"

I shook my head. "Nope, never been shot. Never been stabbed. I have been punched, beat up pretty bad a few times at school. Um... Never been bitten." That was meant to be a joke, but it wasn't all that funny. "I-I did see someone get bit. Actually, saw them get bit a lot of times... Saw someone else shoot themselves, too..." I trailed off, but before I let myself think about it I shook my head. "No, uh, but... Before The Outbreak, I used to always go to hospital for stuff. Mostly when I was back in North Dakota before we moved to Virginia."

"Why?"

I shrugged. "I just used to get sick all the time. Flues, colds, migraines, asthma attacks, yacking for no reason. And I'd get cuts and bruises really easy. I had tests done, doctors changed my diet and monitored me at home and stuff... but, I don't know. They just never found a diagnosis. Just a sick kid. But it wasn't too serious so when I got into my pre-teens I just sort of grew out of most of it."

Carl smirked slightly, "Apart from your weak stomach and asthma."

"Yeah," I grinned. "But I'm not dead yet."

He looked away after a moment, seemingly thinking something that he decided he didn't want to share with me.

"Once, they thought it might've been an allergic reaction to chocolate," I add, smirking as I rested my head on my arm.

He chuckled, looking down at me again.

"It wasn't. Thank, God. Don't know what I'd do without chocolate."

"Not much around here."

I pretended to wince, closing my eyes and letting out a dramatic sigh. "I know. It's _torture_. God, The Apocalypse sucks." It was kind of more bitterly true than I meant it to be, so I smirked, trying to keep the mood light.

"What other tests did they do on you?" he asked, mimicking me to try to keep up the momentum of the conversation.

I sat up and opened my eyes again, "Um, nothing major. Had a lot of blood tests in the beginning."

"Yeah? What's your blood type?" he asked curiously.

"O Negative," I said confidently.

"I'm A Positive," he said as if he was introducing himself.

"I can give blood to you," I said truthfully. "Actually, I can give blood to anyone."

"That's cool," Carl praised.

"Yeah, but, I can't get blood from anyone else without O negative blood too. So, that's kind of a bummer."

He was smiling again. I wasn't sure how, but Carl's smile always did strange things to my stomach.

"But it's cool," I said, bringing my thoughts back to the topic. "Doubt I'll ever need a transfusion. I mean, doubt I'd even get a chance to have one if I needed it. Out here and all."

His smile had faded again.

"Come on, one more game to see who's stone'll go farthest?" I proposed.

"Yeah."

So we did. But 'one more game' turned into 'several more games', and it was the end of Maggie's and Glenn's shift (which was usually around three or four in the evening) by the time we headed back to our cells, agreeing to meet up a little later before I had to go for supper chores.

My cell was empty when I got in there, Patrick must have still been out with the others still on the green. There were a few people in the common room going about their afternoon, but that looked to be the only people still in my cell block. I pulled off my beanie and put it on my bedside table, before closing my curtain and slumping down on my cot, letting out a long sigh as my body melted into the mattress.

It was quiet and dim and comfortable in my cell, with a few shards of light scattering in long lines across the floor through the curtain, and I was relaxed and alone, in my own bed, so I let my mind drift to the events of the day, and naturally, my memories lingering on one teenager in particular, retracing over the time I'd spent with him. Our _gymnastics _attempt, our skipping stones game, what we were talking about. Then drifting to things that hadn't happened at all, and instead, thinking of what I'd have kind of maybe wanted to do with him as well... Playing out what I wanted to happen if only Carol hadn't walked in at that moment when she did...

I'm not sure why I thought it was a good time to be thinking about those sort of things again. But I was thinking of them. Thinking of those eyes. Those blue, blue eyes, and those freckles, and that smile... _Aesthetically pleasing..._ _Spellbinding..._ Whatever the Hell it was... Whatever the Hell _he_ was... and I was wondering what it would be like to feel his hair between my fingers, or his lips against mine, and, was it bad that simply wearing his shirt and jacket somehow only further tempting me with my own imagination? Regardless, as a result, with little to no rational thought process, I let my hands travel down towards my jeans.

My finger just touched the edge of my belt buckle...

Before my brother walked into the cell.

"Nyah!"

My gasp was so sudden that it almost winded me, and he didn't even look at me at first. Not until I startled so badly that I almost fell off of my cot. I stuttered when his eyes met mine, my cheeks burning as I stared in horror at him, and he stared right back, stopping in his tracks and completely confused for a moment, until his eyes narrowed, and I wasn't sure if he was about to scream at me or burst out laughing.

"Were, you, just about to...?"

"No!" I barked furiously, and every part of me hurt from my embarrassment.

He laughed and grimaced at the same time.

"No, I wasn't!" I said again, begging and pathetic and mortified.

"Dude, it's the middle of the day!"

"I wasn't doing anything!" _FuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckFUUUUUCK!_

He snorted, unconvinced as he grabbed his soccer ball. "Um... Well, if you're not too _busy... _ Me and the others are about to have a game of soccer." Then he snorted. "Might take out your tension more productively."

"Fuck you, Pat!" I hissed, wanting to die.

"Language," he scoffed. "Are you gonna come or not?"

I frowned, not sure if that was supposed to be an innuendo, and if it was I hated him for it. So I rolled my eyes and grabbed the soccer ball from him, muttering an irritated, "Ass hole," as I lead the way out of our cell. He laughed as he followed me. God, I fucking hated my brother sometimes.

Most of the kids were out there in the front yard on the opposite side of the driveway to the garden. Mika, Lizzie, Molly, Luke. I guessed the others were around somewhere. Beth and Zach were out there too. Beth was stood off on the side with Judith in her arms, smiling away as she alternated between watching and writing in her notebook. Zach was sort of the soccer coach for both teams, splitting us up into three against three with skill sets shared as equally as he could manage. Me, Luke and Mika, and then Patrick, Lizzie and Molly.

So we had our game.

Patrick and I were at war, Luke was a good goalie, and Mika did her best not to get trampled when I charged towards her after my brother. On my brother's team, Molly was a surprisingly stealthy midfielder and managed to slip past me on more occasions than I ever want to admit, and at one point, she got Lizzie to do this thing where she pretended to kick one way, but kicked it behind her instead, and so Molly was quick enough to speed past and pass to Patrick, letting him score a goal. Needless to say, his team won that one.

"Oh, hey, Man. Wanna play?"

We all glanced around to who Zach was talking to, and my stomach did that strange thing again when I saw Carl strolling over to the field towards us.

He shrugged, "Guess."

I looked up towards C-Block, spotting Rick watching his son for a moment, before turning to head into the cell block with what I could just tell was a tense small smile on his mouth. I pursed my lips, knowing that Carl had just lost an argument against his father, the same one as always. He didn't want to play soccer, not today, but I could see that Rick had made him.

"Well c'mon then," Zach grinned enthusiastically. "You go on Patrick's team. I'll go on Oliver's."

Carl was reluctant, and stalled for a moment to greet his sister, before he finally wandered over to be midfielder on Patrick's team.

"Okay, let's go!"

So we continued with our game, one extra player on each team now. My team did considerably better with Zach playing, but the same could be said for Patrick's team with Carl. Because despite his hesitance, Carl was still the most competitive human being I'd ever met. I knew this. But Zach didn't, because he was holding back to keep a fair game, but when Carl unleashed his own version of soccer badassery on us the older teenager stepped up too. Poor Mika was slightly trampled, only once, which kind of resulted in her just sort of sprawled across the grass having a pretty hysterical laughing fit as I grovelled beside her, apologising over and over again because I was sure my knee had gone right through her torso. But she was okay, choking more on her laughter than how completely winded she was.

After a little while when the sun was beginning to set and we knew we were going to need to head in soon, our game had settled and become pretty docile. So much so that we weren't really playing much at all, just sort of all on the same team, absentmindedly passing the ball to whoever asked for it, talking and chatting and joking about silly things that kids were supposed to talk about. Zach was off on the side with Beth and Judith by now, and Lizzie and Molly had retreated over there too to play with Judith, and so it was just Patrick, Luke, Carl, Mika and I still on the field.

"What was the name of that show, with the starfish?" Mika wondered, skipping along with us as I kicked the ball to Luke.

"What?" I asked her.

"You know, there were jelly fish, and, um, a squid, and, um, the theme tune was like. . ." She hummed it as Luke passed to her, and instantly I recognised the tune.

"_SpongeBob SquarePants_!"

"Oh, Dude. I loved that show. Oliver and I used to watch it all the time."

"Oh yeah!" Mika exclaimed, kicking to Patrick. "Can't believe I forgot the main character."

"Yeah, me too," Luke said, looking a little disgruntled by the realisation.

"How could you forget SpongeBob?" I asked incredulously, snickering but still only slight horrified.

The two kids giggled.

I looked at Carl, who had been quiet for a little while, and when I met his gaze he looked away for a second as if I'd caught him making a funny face behind my back or something.

"Come on... Don't tell me you never watched it?" I told him.

He looked back at me, smirking, "Yeah, I have."

I relaxed a little, rolling my eyes at him and he laughed as if he didn't mean to do it, quickly stopping himself.

"Is story time on later?" Mika asked.

I shook my head, "No, not today. Carol's got a few things to sort out with the supplies. But it'll be on tomorrow like normal."

Mika nodded, doing well to mask her disappointment. Mika's favourite thing was Story Time, aside from science class and pecans, which I would later learn.

"How was your day, Mika?" I asked her to cheer her up.

She grinned. "Good. I helped Dad with painting the newly cleared part of The Prison."

"The one with the music room?" I asked her, not failing to notice Carl glance at me from the ball as it was passed to him. We hadn't spoken about the music room to anyone else, but I figured it wouldn't matter now that it was clear in there anyway.

Mika nodded.

"Ick!" Luke grimaced. "I went in there with Molly and Allison and it was gross."

"That was weeks ago. It's clean now," Mika said.

"It was pretty gross when Carl and I- Grahh!"

Carl had kicked the ball at my chest, hard.

"Ouch! What was that for?!"

He widened his eyes, giving me a _Shut the hell up! _face that I tried not to laugh at.

"When you and Carl what?" Patrick asked, stopping now, which brought everyone else to a stop too.

"Oh, um." Carl gave me that look again as I spoke, with an added hint of _You spill and I'll tare your hair out _to it too this time. "Nothing," I took the obvious hint, picking up the ball before it could bounced away. "I was thinking of something else."

Patrick cocked an eyebrow, scrutinising as he looked between Carl and I.

"How was your day?" Mika asked me, not noticing the tension between Carl, Patrick and I.

"Oh, yeah, good," I answered a little haggardly.

"Yours?" she asked Carl.

He nodded, not really giving much more than that.

"Luke?"

"I was with you for most of it, Dummy," he giggled. "Apart from the painting."

"Oh yeah."

It was cute how she liked talking with us, like it was something she looked forward to do. Mika was kind of awkward at it though, she meant well, but it mostly just made people wonder how much more adorable she could possibly get. But her social determination was admirable, because most of us weren't particularly good at socialising anyway, and seeing as The Apocalypse wasn't a very good place to learn such skills, it sort of gave me quite a bit of respect for her. I had figured that it was just sort of a normal thing to be awkward talking to others if you were twelve or younger since The Outbreak started. I guess I just didn't have an excuse.

"What about you, Patrick?" she said. "How was your day?"

"Fine," he said the same way he would answer Mom after a day of school. "Chores mostly." Then he started grinning... and my stomach dropped. "Had a bit of a shock before we came out here though. Ol-Oof!"

Much like Carl had to shut me up earlier, I'd kicked the soccer ball at my brother. Only, it was a lot harder... and at his face.

Patrick practically somersaulted as the soccer ball collided with the side of his head, sending him flying head over heels and flopping to the floor with a loud grunt. I didn't know whether to laugh or freeze to the spot, so I kind of did both, and we all just stared at him for moment as he writhed on the grass, groaning and cursing under his breath. Once he'd gotten over the initial shock of my attack, he started laughing, pushing himself to sit up and look at us, his expression pained and shocked and amused all at the same time.

". . . _Ouch_," he grunted incredulously, checking that his glasses weren't shattered from the blow. "What the Hell, Oliver?"

Mika and Carl were stunned, looking as though they had just witnessed me pull a vacuum out of my beanie, both impressed and horrified by my sudden strength. Luke had collapsed, and was now rolling on the floor laughing hysterically, and I just tried not to throw up, rushing with adrenaline and embarrassment, and not liking the way Patrick looked like he was still about to continue the sentence that everyone had already forgotten about.

"Don't." I gave him a warning glare, horrified for what he was openly just about to share with them. Carl especially.

"What the heck jus' happened?" Carl was completely befuddled.

"Hey, guys!"

It was Zach, and I looked over my shoulder with bright red cheeks as he called over. "Sorry!" I called, reaching down and helping my brother stand again, but I was glaring at him, also slightly terrified that I'd given him concussion.

"You okay?" Mika asked him.

Patrick snickered a little and nodded. "Yeah... Oliver's just gotta work on his _aim_."

I did well not to roll my eyes, at the same time avoiding the all of other's eye contact as they just sort of awkwardly looked between me and my brother.

"Um, w-we've got chores," I told him.

Patrick tried to subdue his pained grin, knowing that he was playing the cruellest card he ever had with me. I was fairly certain that I would've slugged him if people weren't around, as I was fairly sure that everyone was still a little worried that I would, given how I reacted when I reunited with him two and a half months before. So, without another word, I pulled at my beanie and tugged Patrick's sleeve to follow me, too overwhelmed by everything to say anything to the others.

"See you later, guys," Patrick said to them, rubbing the side of his face.

Carl sounded completely lost when he replied, "Uh, yeah. See you."

"Why'd you do that, Pat?" I hissed at him as we both walked through the courtyard to get to the main building.

"You just knocked my freaking lights out."

I grumbled my sigh.

"It was a joke," he added. "Dude, I wasn't gonna tell them really."

I glared at him, "I wasn't even... God, you're such a dick sometimes. You're always taking the piss out of me."

"Hey, not always."

"Yeah you do. All the time. Always making me look like an idiot in front of Carl, a-and the others."

He narrowed his eyes as he opened the door to go into the building, "Since when do you are what Carl thinks?"

"I don't. I mean, I do, because he's my best friend, and the other's are too."

He sighed. "I don't always make fun of you."

"Yes, you do!" I snapped irritably.

"I didn't when you just kicked me in the head... or when you went and punched me across the face too," he retorted. "I stuck up for you when Glenn and Daryl pointed their guns at your head."

I stopped and stared at him. "That was different."

"How?"

My teeth gritted, after everything today, my sudden frustration seemed to amplify with every second that he spoke. "I thought you were dead."

"Dude, sticking up for you isn't the only thing I've ever done for you."

"I was on my own," I continued, not letting what he'd just said go yet. "I took care of myself. _I_ kept _me_ alive while you were safe and sound curled up in your own, warm bed. You've never done anything for me. You forgot about me the moment you saw that walker grab me in the store."

I felt terrible the second I'd said it.

I knew it wasn't true.

But I was too stubborn to take it back.

It didn't matter though. I had said it, and even if I was about to apologise I didn't have the chance, because Patrick span around and shoved me against the corridor wall, so suddenly and so angrily that there was nothing I could do.

"You have no DAMNED idea what I've done for you!" he shouted at my face. "What I've had to go through just to keep you SAFE!"

My mouth was open in shock, breathing heavily and actually scared of what he would do to me. I could feel his fists bawled against my shoulders and his expression was furious. But I just stared at him, stunned by the sudden violence, completely overwhelmed. Then after a second Patrick grimaced and winced, stepping away and letting go of me. His eyes stuck to the floor and his brow arched in what looked like a painful mixture of fear and shame, as if a terrible memory was flashing across his vision that hurt him as he relived it. But he shook it away and looked back to me, heaving his breath.

"We've got chores, Oliver."

I swallowed, confused and startled and slightly dizzy from such a turn of events. But Patrick turned away and kept walking towards the cafeteria, and so I followed without saying anything.

We did chores, and after a while the usual joking and cheerful demeanour that was my brother returned again, and he seemed to just choose to forget what had happened in the hallway. I took the hint, realising that, whatever his outburst was about, he didn't want to have to explain just yet.

_~ Flashback of Some Point During Their Time at The Prison ~_

"_So, we're staying this time? Here... No more getting up and leaving again... No more running... No more fighting... No more being afraid... We can stay? Really, stay this time?"_

"_Yeah... We don't have to keep running anymore... This is our home now, Oliver... We're safe."_

_~ End Of Flashback ~_

So I accepted his choice, knowing that he would tell me everything I needed to know some day when the time was right.

I guess, in the end, he just sort of ran out of time.

**Notes**

Again, I can't tell if that was sad or happy...

My personal favourite part of this was when Mika got trampled and Oliver was grovelling over her XD Poor Mika x Haha and poor Patrick! Ooh, but, I made a kind of confession for Patrick like **Guest **suggested. I wasn't going to, but I had to do something for him after what you said, and that's the best I could do for him without it making a plot hole in the story x I hope it was okay? And thank you **Guest **for the inspiration! xx

And **Newwalker/Sherlock **if you got the reference when Patrick almost caught Oliver... well... Haaaaa! Remember, it was her scarf in the movie.. But Carl's shirt and jacket in this... You told me that Patrick should catch him! SO I DID IT (well, almost. I couldn't bring myself to actually let him catch Oliver in the act!) Hahahaha! Hahaha Oliver personally punches you over the shoulder for making me write that. He's deeply embarrassed. XD

This chapter was pretty much just a complete hurricane of Oliver's hormones. It was funny to write, and I felt so sorry for him on a few occasions. But yeah, he's only human, and I guess this chapter was to show that :) Though, there was one moment in particular that will become fairly important in the main story soon... Vary soon... _(__Foreshadowing is a bitch!__)_

Hope you enjoyed xx

As always,

Happy reading xx :_)_


	17. What Happened With Taylor

**Enderguest **Thank you. I sorted it :) Yeah. I'm satisfied with how it went. Haha. I'm glad you like them so much! Your support is amazing! And yes! Make an account so that I can message you and favourite you!

**BurningFireBird **Haha. Caliver, nice ship name. The first time someone said that, (back a few months ago) I looked it up because they wrote "Caliver Town" and I thought it was a place. It wasn't until like a day later that I realised it was a ship name. Haha XD

**TheDarkerSide123 **An interesting way of wording things? I do? Thank you, I think. (Assuming that's a good thing x) Thank you, yeah, it was fun to write. When I wrote Patrick getting whacked across the face I couldn't stop laughing for a couple minutes. Bet I sounded like a dying seal to anyone in the house. Haha XD THANK YOU!

**Inazumahunter **Thank you, I know right! Carol could have waited just a few more moments! Haha. I'm not sure whether they'd have started their relationship sooner if he was at the prison for lobger. Maybe. But not even I know. It wasn't until Patrick died and Carl knew he needed to comfort him that he really, really realised he wanted to be really, really more than friends with Oliver. And thank you xxx

_Four or five months into The Outbreak. Around four months after leaving home. Four or so months until separation_

_Oliver is fourteen_

_Early January/Late December time_

Taylor was curled up on the floor with some kind of patterned blanket under his knees, and he was breathing slowly and steadily through his nose, pressing his forehead to the floor with his palms flattened on either side.

I glanced at the two objects laid out in front of him. A small, brass ornament that represented some sort of Deity or God that meant a lot to him. I thought I remembered him saying something like _Bramah. _Anyway, it looked strange. It was a man sat with his hands on his thighs (palms up) meditating I presume, but the strange part was that he had three faces. Next to that was a family photograph with four people in it. Taylor, his older brother Zane, and their parents. He, his mom and Zane were all dressed in some kind of fancy, traditional Indian attire with bright colours and patterns, and his father wore a smart suit, all of them with broad, happy smiles on their faces.

I was sat beside him – had been for a while. I didn't know anything about Hinduism, but I still wanted to sit with him while he preyed, or, did his morning ritual thing. He just told me not to speak or disturb him. I didn't mind the quiet. I liked it really, plus I was busy drawing. Well, trying to at least because I wasn't exactly skilled.

The camp, well, I say camp, but it was just three people not including Patrick and I. But anyway, the camp we were staying at was small and close knit. Patrick and I had only been there for a few days. Spotted them up here in the apartment store while we were passing. It was Zane that I'd seen first. He had a gun, but he didn't aim it at us which was a nice change. After he, Taylor and an old lady called Debby greeted us, Patrick and I just sort of stayed with them for a little while, putting Bowling Green on hold until we were ready to get going again. Because we were so tired, and so hungry, and so drained. In those two days that we'd spent with Taylor's group so far, it had saved our lives. Replenished us, and we'd made real friends for the first time in a while.

"Shh," Taylor whispered to me after a while, not leaning up from his preying.

I glanced at him from the paper. "What?"

"You're drawing too loud," he said quietly, not particularly mad or irritated, just stating it.

I rolled my eyes behind his back (because he was still preying), holding back my scoff as I tried to draw a little quieter, barely grazing the led of my pencil over the crumpled and slightly dirt-smeared paper now.

"Thanks," he whispered as if he thought whoever he was preying to wouldn't hear him.

I let out a quiet chuckle, but then stopped myself.

The sun had only just begun to rise by the time he leant up again, taking a deep breath and rubbing his eyes, before moving his hands in a circular motion in front of the ornament and photograph, he looked half asleep for a moment and I was wondering if he'd secretly fallen asleep by accident during his morning ritual. I didn't blame him, it was early. _So _early. I didn't like waking up at that time at all, but I'd heard the fifteen-year-old climbing over all of us to go out and prey, so I got up and asked to go with him.

It was only him that was religious. His mom was when she was alive, but his father wasn't, he was Australian (which is where Taylor and his family had lived for the majority of Taylor's early to pre-teen life, only to move to America about two years ago), and his brother used to be religious, but Taylor told me that college and nightclubs had corrupted Zane and sucked him into the world of drugs and alcohol and sex, which I tried not to laugh at because I knew he was serious about how terrible he thought it was. I didn't have much of an opinion. I liked Zane because he was friendly and funny and didn't try to kill us, so I didn't have a reason not to. Taylor, on the other hand, didn't get along with his brother at all. The two hardly spoke to each other. But it was hard to ignore your last living family member when they turn up on your doorstep after driving all the way from college in North Carolina, arriving just in time to save you from your undead parents. That's what happened to Taylor, and then he went with his brother to find a safe zone that was no longer there. Which got them where they were now, cooped up in a department store with three other strangers.

Taylor took the little palm sized container of some sort of bright red powder in it and dipped his finger into the stuff, before smearing the powder over the three headed ornament in front of him, then to do the same to the photograph of his family. Then he dipped his finger into the powder again before pressing it to his own forehead, leaving a red dot between his dark brown eyebrows.

I was watching him curiously as he did, and he met my gaze for a moment and I gave him a small, tired smile, and without a word he gestured me to move closer to him. So I did, a little hesitantly, and he smiled and pressed his finger between my eyebrows too. When I pulled away I felt a little of the red powder fall on my nose from where he'd pressed it, and it made me sneeze.

"Bless you," he said with a chuckle, closing the container of powder.

I sneezed again.  
>"Bless you again."<p>

"What is that stuff?" I asked incredulously, sniffing and wiping my nose on my denim sleeve.

"Red powder from home. Use it for Puja. It's the only thing other than my murti that I was able to bring."

I was pretty much lost after the word Puja. Taylor had an Australian accent, so I was just sort of wondering if he'd said it wrong.

"This is my murti," he explained in that strange but impressive accent, pointing at the three headed man ornament. "And the ritual I just did is Puja."

"Oh, right," I said.

He smiled. Taylor had a nice smile, and I couldn't help but smile back as I glanced at the red dot on his forehead. Taylor was part Indian and part Australian, so, as a genetic result, he had more Caucasian features, but his skin and hair was Indian-looking. So, in short, Taylor had the face of one country, the voice of a second, and his home was a third, which I thought was just about the coolest sentence in the World.

"What are you drawing?" he asked.

"Oh, um, that Hindu symbol thing that's in the background of your family photo." It kind of looked like the number three with a few decorative squiggles around it.

"Aum."

I looked at him, wondering if it was because of his accent that I had no idea what he'd just said. Unfortunately for my ego, it was something that did happen a lot. Taylor usually found it funny, but I always felt rude.

"That's what it's called. The symbol," Taylor elaborated. "Aum."

"Oh," I said, nodding. "Yeah, I drew an Aum. It's not very good, but I was bored, so..."

"No, it's cool."

"Well, do you want it?"

"Thanks," he said, folding and pocketing it. "Sorry if you were bored."

I squinted, "Well, bored's the wrong word. More, I had time, so I did."

He smiled.

I looked out to the horizon. I wasn't sure where we were exactly. Just that it was somewhere near Charleston, West Virginia.

"Wanna go back in yet?"

I shook my head, moving to cross my legs and gazing out to the gold and pink and red, watching as the clouds rolled across the Virginian sky.

"They'll get worried," Taylor said, standing up to collect his things and fold up the blanket despite my wishes.

We were up on the roof of the store. It was like a big porch up there with a dry wall banister going all the way around it, so we were allowed up there, it was just that it was so early and we were on our own. If anything went wrong there wasn't much anyone could do about it.

"Oliver," he insisted when I didn't move. It was funny how he said my name. _Oliveur._

"I don't want to," I complained. "It smells like old socks in there." We were all sharing one room, which was the office type room of the store.

Taylor smirked, but ultimately didn't relent. Instead he crossed his arms, trying to look stern, but he was small for his age, a little shorter and skinnier than me even though I was over a year and a half younger than him. So it didn't do much.

"Please?" I groaned stubbornly.

A moment passed until he sighed and stepped back over to me, taking a seat behind me. I wasn't sure why he didn't just sit next to me, until I felt him lean back against me so that our spines were against each other's.

It wasn't exactly a strange gesture. We'd often sit similar to this. Taylor was a very tactile person. It was like he wasn't aware of personal space at all because he would often hug me, Patrick and Debby with little to no warning, and he was always holding Debby's hand and sleeping curled up against her, me too once the day before when I fell asleep half way through the day. I had a slight hunch that after the death of his parents, and his emotional barrier from his brother, it made him crave human contact. But I wouldn't say that to him as it was only an observation, plus, I didn't really mind, I kind of liked how close we were. It sort of reminded me of Penelope.

"Am I allowed to take off the powder yet?" I asked him.

Taylor snorted, his forced out-take of breath jolting his back against mine. "You goof."

I took that as a yes and proceeded to rub off the powder from between my eyebrows until I couldn't feel it anymore, but I was sure I still had a red mark over my face, now nice and awkwardly smeared down my nose and over my eyelid. I could feel Taylor doing the same behind me, and I was doing my best not to giggle as I felt his shoulder blade moving slightly with his movement.

"I don't get why you like it out here so much," he said after a moment.

I frowned, glancing over my shoulder at him, "Just look at it..." I told him, tilting my head towards the sky in front of me.

"What?" he asked, looking over his shoulder.

I tried not to look completely astounded. "Well, I mean, look at it, man... Gosh, you'd think that with all that time preying you'd have a second to stop and look around you," I said.

"It's hard to look at the sky when you're performing Puja. You know, what with the whole 'facing into the floor' thing."

I wasn't sure whether to laugh or agree. So I spoke, "Well when you're done Puja-ing, try looking up for a moment."

"Okay. Fine." Taylor swivelled round, but again, he didn't sit beside me. Instead he sat directly behind me where he was, pressing his knees into each side of the small of my back, and then, after a moment, he rested his chin on my shoulder.

"Do you like it?" I asked after a moments quiet.

"Yeah. It's, uh, it's kinda nice." I didn't know that he wasn't talking about the sky.

"I like the colours," I went on, oblivious that Taylor was curiously wondering what I would do if he wrapped his arms around me, "pinks, oranges, golds, reds. It's like someone's grabbed that red powder stuff you've got and scattered it all over the place."

He chuckled, leaning up again, "You've got a good soul, Oliver," he said.

"Shut up," I said, thinking he was taking the piss out of me.

"No, you do. You're Atman is a nice change. You now, from everything that's been happening lately."

"Atman?"

"Yeah. There's a part of Brahma in everyone, it's called the Atman."

I nodded, not wanting to ask him what Brahma was exactly because I always asked questions about his religion and I didn't want to annoy him. But taking a guess from the context, I think I had an idea.

I turned around, furrowing my brow at him after a moment when he kept watching me. Until he grinned, "You ready to come inside yet?"

I nodded, "Yeah, okay."

So we went back inside, climbing down the ladder that lead to the second floor balcony. There were a few biters down on the first floor, reaching up to us and growling, and I was about to go and deal with them, but Taylor said that Zane would sort them out later, so we went inside.

"There's a couple of munchers down there," Taylor addressed his brother.

Zane looked annoyed just by his brother's voice, but he got up, grabbed his knife and went outside to deal with them. "Stop going up there, Taylor. Unless you wanna die."

"But, it's safe up there," Taylor said back.

"It's one thing going up on your own, but dragging others up there so early in the morning is just selfish," Zane ignored him, looking at me and his eyes flickered to my forehead, seeing the powder smeared on it. "Stop making Oliver do it too."

Before I could summon the courage to correct him, he was gone. Taylor narrowed his eyes at the closed door, then looked away and just tried to ignore his anger.

"Why didn't he take his rifle?" I asked as I self consciously tried to rub off more of the powder, because Zane had left with only his knife, leaving his rifle on the table.

"It's got no bullets left," Taylor whispered back. Patrick and Debby were still asleep.

"Oh, that explains why he didn't try to shoot us then."

Taylor smirked, then the both of us stayed quiet for a few minutes, listening as Zane took out the two biters outside, coming back a few minutes later with an armful of canned food that he'd collected from the stash we'd hidden in the store. He opened three cans and then handed two to us.

Shortly after, Debby roused from her sleep. In the two days I'd known her, she had quickly become the sweetest woman I'd ever met, I'm not sure why, I guess it was because she was small and old and friendly.

"Morning, boys," she groaned as she sat up, smiling. She always smiled.

"Hey, Deb," Taylor shuffled over to her, bidding her a morning hug that she happily returned. "Here," he handed her a can of macaroni and cheese.

Patrick was still asleep, but I figured I'd leave him like that because we weren't really awake for anything, and he could always just eat when he did get up.

_~ Noon ~_

Patrick and Zane were out on a supply run. According to the phone book Patrick found earlier, there was supposed to be a gun store in the next town over, which was a ten minute drive away. They'd only just left, and Debby made it clear that they were to be back in two hours, no later, and Zane dipped his head and nodded as if her were her son. It was funny, Debby was the only person that could effectively tell Zane what to do with what seemed to be no effort what so ever.

So that left her with Taylor and I. But that wasn't exactly a difficult feat for her. All we were doing was hanging out on the roof. It took a few minutes to get her up there, as the only way she could was the ladder, but she managed eventually, and we got her a chair and a blanket and an old newspaper to read, so she was quite happy.

Taylor and I were playing a game of catch from one side of the roof to the other. Though it wasn't just any game of catch, each time we threw we had to answer a question that the other had asked. Taylor came up with it.

"Your favourite food...?" He threw the tennis ball.

I answered before I even caught it, "Chocolate." I rolled the ball in my hands, thinking. "The last movie you saw...?"

He caught it and had to think for a few seconds. "I have no idea. Um... Nope, none. Pass... The last time you flew in a plane, where you went, and what you did?"

I caught the ball when he threw it to me. "Three Springs ago, Italy, to visit my family. You?" I asked as I threw it back.

It basically continued like this for a while, occasionally one of us would drop the ball, shuffling forward to grab it, and then being too lazy to move back again, and so through the laziness, eventually after almost an hour of mindlessly throwing the ball, and probably learning more useless things about someone than I ever had before, Taylor and I were sat right beside one another, simply passing the ball to and from each other, and the game had devolved into just saying the first word we could think of.

"Laughter," he said.

"Smiling," I said.

". . . Goofy."

I pushed his shoulder when he said that, knowing that he meant that my smile was goofy from my little under-bite. "Funny accent," I retorted.

"That's two words, dummy."

"That's four," I smirked.

"Moron."

"Patrick," I said factually.

"Brother," Taylor said.

"Annoying."

"Drawing while I'm performing Puja."

I pushed him again, rolling my eyes, "Grudge."

Taylor took a breath. "Remembering."

"History," I said.

"Old."

I looked around at our babysitter, seeing that she was asleep in her chair. I let out a chuckle and looked at Taylor again, a childish, mischievous grin on my face, "Debby."

"Amazing," Taylor said. We both shared our love for that woman.

"Comics."

"MARVEL."

"Epic."

"Really?" Taylor asked.

"_Yeah,_" I answered like it was a dumb question.

"I prefer DC World."

"Why?"

He shrugged, making an _I dunno _noise.

"They changed their main story before they finished it," I said as if the event was motive enough to start a war. "I mean who does that? Just, up and change a story like that?"

Taylor laughed, about to respond, but instead of doing it verbally he just lifted his arm and half ruffled my hair and half pulled me closer, sort of pressing his cheek to the side of my head. I laughed at him, pulling away to look at him. But it got quiet, like it did before, and Taylor just looked at me for a long moment.

"You okay?" I asked him.

He nodded almost immediately and sort of stuttering his movements, even his blink seemed to stutter. "Y-yeah. 'M fine. I... was just wondering... c-"

My head span around at an engine.

"They're back!" I blurted, glancing at Taylor again and not noticing the way he swallowed back his sentence as if it was burning his throat. Instead I pushed myself to my feet, rushing to the balcony and looking over. A grin exploded over my mouth, watching the familiar car park beside the store. Taylor joined me, helping Debby over too and we watched as a few biters rammed themselves into the vehicle.

"Oh dear," Debby worried.

"It's okay, they've got them," Taylor reassured her.

He was right, because a moment later the biter on the left window suddenly made a gagged gargle noise and slumped to the floor, and I just saw the blade that had done it before Zane pulled it back into the car, and then a second later the biter on the other side fell to the floor too.

Patrick and Zane climbed out of the truck.

"Pat," I grinned down at him.

"Hey," he smiled up at us. "Everything okay."

I nodded, ecstatic because even from the second floor I could see their promising haul in the back seats of the car.

"Come down an' help us get it all inside," Zane said, sounding pretty happy too.

"Okay, we'll just help Debby inside," I said.

_~ The Next Day ~_

Debby hadn't eaten breakfast. She was too weak to get up this morning and was feeling pretty dizzy. She weakly explained that she gets it a lot because of her low blood pressure and age, and because she doesn't have the medication it was all just catching up to her a little. All we'd been able to do was get her to drink a little water. So we'd gone out looking for medication for her. Zane, Patrick and I. Leaving Taylor back in the store to keep an eye on her.

"Alright, we need_ Diltiazem, Meclizine_ and some_ Aspirin_. That should do it."

"How do you know?" Patrick asked curiously as we scoped through the medicine isles of the store. I just focussed on _Aspirin. _Everything else on the list literally flew right over my head.

"I studied medicine in College. Was training to be a Doctor."

"Oh, right," Patrick said. "Ah, got some _Aspirin_."

_Crap. _

"Good," Zane said.

I was building the courage to ask what the other medication was, but then I heard a growl behind the desk.

"We've got company."

Zane popped his head around to look at me and I pointed at the medicine desk. He walked to it and peered over the edge to see the corps. I looked too when he sighed, seeing that it was missing it's left leg, which is why it hadn't gotten up yet. So Zane made quick work of it, looting its body and finding a set of matches and a machete.

"You want it?" he offered the machete to Patrick.

"No, I've got my knife."

"Oliver?"

I looked at Patrick. I'm not sure why, just to check he didn't have anything against it. He shrugged and went to keep looking, so I thanked Zane and slipped the machete into my belt. The handle was cracked though, and it snagged against my palm.

"Um, can I go find something to fix it for a sec?" I asked Zane.

He nodded, "Yeah. Just stay in the drug store, Okay?"

"Yes, Sir - Zane, sorry. Habit."

He grinned and motioned me to get going.

So I went on search for some tape, finding an isle that sold pens and pencils and stuff like that, and there were rolls of some kind of felt-like tape that was used for what I needed. There was a blue roll, a green, a red, a brown, and a pink one. Obviously I chose red, because red was always my favourite colour, and proceeded to tape up the long crack, wrapping the tape around the whole machete handle.

"Pretty cool," Patrick praised when he saw it, stuffing some inhalers he'd found in his supply bag.

I smiled, sliding my new machete back into my belt.

We kept searching, until all we had left to find was_ Meclizine_, but we couldn't find it anywhere.

"Won't the other stuff be enough?" Patrick asked.

"Yeah, but I'd have better peace at mind if we found it."

There was a long pause as we kept searching.

"She's a good woman," Zane said solemnly. "Can't let her die without even trying."

I snapped my head to look at him, furrowing my brow. "Wai-"

"How do you know her?" Patrick asked before I could finish.

"She was my Professor at College. Brought her with me when things got bad up there 'cause she lived a few towns away from home. But, when we got to her home her husband was dead. Well, undead, you know?"

"Didn't she have children."

Zane shook his head. "Her son died of some neurological disease when he was a kid. Never had children after that. Devoted herself to her work. She was good too. Everyone's favourite teacher."

Patrick smiled. "She is pretty cool."

"Wait, Zane, you said she's dying..." I finally got to chime in, noticing what Patrick had missed.

"Yeah. She's had heart problems for years. Manageable with medication, but without..."

"She'll turn." I'd said it as if the words stung my throat.

Zane shook his head reassuringly. "Not unless she's bitten. Yo-"

"No! No. You turn even if you're not bitten or scratched."

"What?" Zane frowned.

"Didn't you know?" Patrick asked, confused.

Zane just grimaced, completely unconvinced.

"We're all infected... You just have to... stop breathing."

"We've seen it happen," I said quietly.

Zane looked like he was about to cry, and Patrick and I watched as he slumped to the floor, bracing himself against the shelf. Patrick and I had figured this out early, and so we weren't expecting him to take it so hard. But he had every reason to. It meant that there was no way out of the inevitable. It meant that no matter what we did, unless we got a blade or bullet through our brains... we would all become one of the walking dead eventually.

But then...

It clicked.

I don't know why it took so long. I don't know how none of us had figured it out sooner, but we all seemed to realise the fatal mistake we had made by coming out here. But there was a scream at the same moment. Bone chilling and ear splitting and coming from the place we'd all thought safe.

"TAYLOR!"

Zane was gone in a heartbeat, flying for his brother, and Patrick and I bolted after him, running as fast as we all could the two blocks back to the place we'd left Taylor and Debby together at. He was still screaming, until it all just stopped, and we hurtled up the staircase, fearing the absolute worst at the terrible silence.

Zane crashed through the door, screaming for his brother.

I saw Debby first, a bloody, bashed in canyon in her temple and a blood dripping paper weight neglected just beside her. Then there was Taylor, and he crashed into his brother, wrapping his arms around him so tightly that for a moment I thought he was attacking him.

But Taylor was alive, Taylor was breathing. Crying and terrified and traumatized, but alive.

"Are you okay?" Zane's voice shook.

Taylor nodded, tears streaming down his face and blood splattered over his clothes. "She just started seizing. I didn't know what to do! Then... Then she was dead. But..."

"You're not bit or scratched?"

He shook his head, pulling away and staring down at Debby's corps. I was heaving my breath, crying too as I mourned the trusted woman, gripping Patrick's sleeve as if to make sure that he didn't disappear. Until Taylor was hugging me, crying into my shoulder and I enveloped my arms around him, scrunching my eyes shut and wishing it all to be okay again.

"She c-came at me!" he sobbed, trembling so much that it was difficult to hold on to him. "Th-there was nothing I could do!"

"You did the right thing," Patrick told him, realising that I was too terrified to speak. "It's just a good thing you weren't hurt."

"Oliver, can you help get him cleaned up?" Zane asked me after a moment when Taylor still hadn't let go, figuring I was best suited to console him.

I nodded, still too adrenaline rushed to find my voice yet. The bathroom was only in the next room, so I helped Taylor over there. He was in shock, and so he went silent, staring into space as I sat him down on the floor, getting a cloth and dipping it into the bucket of water that was by the sink.

He was still crying while I wiped his face, silent tears dripping from his eyes and his body jolting whenever a hiccup tried to escape his sealed shut mouth.

"Taylor..."

No response.

"Taylor, come on," I said softly. "Try to look at me."

Again, nothing.

I sighed, wiping the last of Debby's blood from his face, before leaving the bathroom. "I'll be back in a second. Stay here."

There wasn't much worry that he would move. So I went to his bed-area in the office, Patrick and Zane were outside burying Debby by then, so I grabbed what I needed and headed back into the bathroom.

"I got you these."

I presented his brass Deity, placing it carefully on his knee. He glanced at it, but then looked away ahead of him blankly. Didn't work. So I got the other object, opening the container and prodding my finger into the red powder, then leant forward and pressed the pad of my finger between his eyebrows. I didn't know if it would help him feel better. I just figured that it might because he used it in Puja all the time, and he liked Puja, so maybe it would help.

I sat back, closing the container and setting it down on the floor beside him. I was about to grab the cloth and try to clean up a little more of the blood on his neck and hands, but he took my hand in his, so suddenly that I almost jumped.

I stared at him for a moment, waiting to see what he would do, and after a while he picked up the Deity from his knee cap and looked at me.

"Thanks."

I nodded, letting go of him to pick up the rag. "Lift your chin, let me get the blood off you."

"No, it's okay... I-I'll do it."

"You sure?"

He nodded, wincing slightly as he pulled himself to stand up. "Yeah. Can you just go wait in there? I'll be done in a minute."

I nodded and left him alone in the bathroom. I found Zane and Patrick outside and offered to help them, but they told me to stay inside. So I did, trying my best to clean up a little because it was the only thing that made me feel better. Taylor had his powder, Patrick had his immaturity, Zane had his surliness, and I had my compulsions. A few minutes later Taylor came out of the bathroom, giving me a small, sad smile before simply going over to his sleeping bag and lying down.  
>Patrick and Zane came back a while later when it was starting to get dark. "He okay?" Zane asked me instead of just asking his brother himself.<p>

"Yeah," I nodded, glancing at Taylor who had fallen asleep. "He's okay."

_~ Early The Next Morning ~_

I awoke the same way I did the previous two mornings. Hearing Taylor getting up to go perform Puja.

"Can I come with you?" I asked him at a whisper.

He looked at me, sniffing and nodding, looking tired and drained and sad.

"Yes please."

So I got up, quietly following him out of the office and onto the balcony. He took a long time to climb the ladder, stopping and resting half way up and then taking another rest when he got to the very top, closing his eyes and trying to catch his breath again.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm just tired. Didn't sleep well."

I watched him carefully as he climbed over the top, quickly joining him over in his usual Puja Spot. He laid out his blanket, kneeling on the floor to set up his things. But he stopped, sighing and then turning to look at me.

"Do you ever get scared?"

I frowned, confused by such a question.

"I mean, not scared like how we're scared all the time. But scared, like, of what we'll become one day. Scared of... not being a good person...?"

"I guess. But, we're okay now."

He nodded. "Do you think I'm a good person?"

"Yeah. Of course."

He sighed.

"Why are you asking?"

It took him a moment to answer, and when he did his voice shook slightly as he held back his emotions. "I took some food off of a dead man a few weeks ago. And, he had a baby in his arms... shot right through the head... and... I just pushed it off of him... Just left it there... And yesterday... when Debby started seizing... I didn't know how to help her so I just preyed in the corner... begged for Brahma to save her... and he didn't... He let her die... and then she came back and..."  
>"None of that was your fault, Taylor. There was nothing you could do to change what happened. Debby was sick. You were scared and alone."<p>

"I'm just afraid that I'll never reach Moksha for what I did... I'm scared of being punished when I die."

"Taylor, stop it," I hissed a little angrily. "You won't be punished. And you won't die."

"You don't even believe in it," he retorted just as irritably. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because I am sure. You're a good person. Plus, I'm pretty sure that Brahma's too busy freaking out over everything going on lately to go around punishing people."

Taylor smirked. "I'm not sure that's how it works."

"None of us are sure any more, man."

Taylor smiled, holding my eye contact for a short moment. But then tears began welling in his eyes and he furrowed his brow, suddenly lifting his hands to my temples and pulling me closer to press his lips to my fringe.

I chuckled through my nose, smiling as he let go of me and leaning back again. But he wasn't smiling. He was just watching me, as if trying not to blurt something out that he wanted to say.

"What was that for?" I asked, chuckling in amusement, but as I spoke my smile fell from the intensity in his gaze.

"I just..." He swallowed, and I watched as his pupils dilated and his eyes flickered over my slightly befuddled expression. "I just... I... I want to try something."

"Oh, um... Try what?"

For a moment he looked like he would answer me with words, but instead he leant closer, and I froze, suddenly realising what he was doing. But I jerked backwards onto my hands, causing my legs to buckle under me.

"Taylor, what're you doing?" I blurted, kind of expecting him to realise what he was about to do and stop himself too.

But he didn't. "No, no, it's okay," he whispered, climbing on top of me now, and I made a noise as he rested between my legs. "Please, just... Just this once?"

My heart hammered in my chest, "W-why?" I asked, more curious than actually afraid. Because I knew he wouldn't hurt me.

"Because this might be the last time I ever can," Taylor pleaded quietly, adjusting his hands to support himself on either side of me by where my hands were, the ends of his fingers pressing over my hands. "There's so much bad... I could die today... You could... Patrick, Zane... Why can't we just do something good for once while we can? Something that doesn't make us scared or hurt...? I just... I want, to know, what it feels like..."

"What what feels like?"

". . . What it feels like, to be with you."

For a long time I just stared at him, completely taken off guard by his answer.

But then I nodded.

Because his voice was soft and honest, for lack of a better way to describe it. It was comforting, and I guess I wasn't really listening to what he was actually saying... because I didn't realise everything that he meant by it.

So he leant forward, nervously shifting his eyes between mine. I stayed where I was, swallowing my dry throat and closing my eyes as his body shifted against mine.

Scolding.

The kiss was scolding, and for the short moment that my lips pressed to his, his heat radiated from him like a furnace.

It clicked.

Again.

I didn't know why it took me so long to realise...

I pulled away, scrambling out from under him a little, trembling and panting and suddenly so terrified that I didn't want to say it. But I knew I had to.

"Y-you're burning, Taylor..."

He tried to smile, haggardly forcing the corners of his mouth and breathing heavier than before.

My breath hitched and dread ate me whole. "No..."

His eyebrows arched, letting out a sob as he suddenly crumpled into me, nodding and muttering inaudible sentences as he gripped my middle.

"But, no," I pleaded as I held him in a dazed, loose embrace, still led there, completely lost on how to deal with all of this, "but... you... You were okay."

He shook his head into my chest, weakly pulling himself away from me to sit back. "No." He rested his forehead in his palms, sobbing and looking tired and drained. "No I wasn't."

"You got bit..."

He sobbed in reply, strangled and guttural.

"Where?" I growled, so distraught that I didn't know what emotion to feel first. I was angry, sad, terrified, confused. It was terrible, and there was nothing I could do. "Where did she get you, Taylor?"

Taylor's expression contorted as he pushed himself backwards to kneel up, swaying slightly as the virus, that had already had hours to take effect, sent a roll of agony through his deteriorating body. His pale hand closed around the hem of his T-shirt, and he let out another hiccup as he pulled it up, exposing the shallow bite wound on the side of his stomach.

My hand clamped over my face, for so long that I was close to suffocating myself from my terror. "We have to tell them," I muttered shrilly.

"I'm scared."

"We have to," I insisted, panicking and starting to cry. "They can help."

"Please?!" He grabbed my hand, and his fevering skin almost burnt me. "Please, Oliver? I'm scared... I don't want them to hurt me."

I wanted to scream for them, but I couldn't. I couldn't betray him like that. But I knew I couldn't sit here and let him die. "They won't. They wouldn't hurt you."

Taylor cried into his palms.

"They can help. We have to do something, Taylor."

But he suddenly snapped. "We can't do anything, Oliver! I'm dying! I'M DYING!"

"Stop!" I hissed, grabbing him and trying to cover his mouth. "They'll hear you! Stop it!"

But he became hysterical, doubling over. "No! I can't STOP it! I'm DYING! I'M dying! I'M DYING! _I'MDYINGI'MDYINGI'MDYING!_"

"Stop it!" I barked, roughly grabbing him from behind and forcing him to stop screaming, but he fought against me, shoving me backwards. "Stop, don't! You're not, Taylor!"

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" he screamed, charging at me and I fell backwards, holding my arms up in submission as he skidded to a stop right in front of me in challenge. "I'LL KILL YOU IF YOU DON'T! GO! GO AWAY!"

"No!" I cried. "STOP! Taylor..."

"Taylor?!" Zane called, panic making his voice so shrill that it cut right through his little brother's screaming.

"Oliver!"

"Patrick!" I wailed as he came into view, clambering for me over the ladder after Zane, who bolted for his brother, and I wrapped my arms around Patrick's middle, more terrified than I ever thought possible.

"I'M DYING!"

Taylor was still screaming, wailing those terrible words over and over again as Zane tried desperately to calm him. "What happened?!" Zane ordered, unable to stop Taylor from shoving himself out of his big brother's arms, collapsing onto the floor in a sobbing, shaking heap. "What the fuck happe-"

But he didn't finish his sentence.

Because that was the moment that Taylor lifted his clothing.

Exposing the wound that was ending his life.

"No." That was all Zane said for a long time. "No. No. No. No. No."

But he held his brother for a much longer time, knelt on the blanket on the roof, crying and whispering and trying to figure out why this all was happening as Taylor lay limp and dying in his brother's arms. Patrick kept hold of me, stunned into silence as I wept for my best friend, and for a long time nothing happened. We all just kept breaking and crying and panicking.

But then Taylor stopped crying... stopped breathing, and Zane stared down at his brother, whispering his name over and over as tears dripped from his eyes against the dead teenager's open eyed face.

"Zane..." Patrick gulped down the bomb in his heart. "Zane, we have to-"

But the twenty-year-old shot his gaze at us, tears streaming from his eyes. "You said...!" he growled dangerously. "You. Said. He. Was _fine._"

My face contorted as I tried to think of words to say. But I had none, and Patrick's grip around my shoulders tightened in defence. "It wasn't Oliver's fault. Zane, you know that."

"YOU SAID HE WAS FINE!" he roared at me, but then looked down at his brother again, letting out a wail as he mourned him. "You said he was fine," he whispered again, more distraught than I had ever seen someone.

"We need to put him down," Patrick tried again, "before he tu-"

"NO!"

Patrick stepped forward, letting go of me and I did my best to brace myself against the floor.

"Zane," he said wearily, edging closer to him. "There's only so much time... He'll turn."

But then, as Patrick placed his hand on our friend's shoulder, Zane span around, shoving Patrick backwards and pointing his knife at him as the younger teen stumbled onto the floor. "No! Not yet!"

"Stop!" I whimpered, still knelt on the floor, heaving my sobs.

"Get away from him!" Zane screamed. "He's my brother! He's my brother!"

Patrick froze, sprawled across the roof and staring in fear at him with his arm raised in submission and breathing heavily. "Okay... Okay... We're sorry... Just... just put the knife away, Zane... It doesn't have to go like this."

Zane let out a choked, sadistic laugh, but went back to Taylor again, lifting him on to his lap and holding him possessively, mumbling things as Taylor's body hung limply in his arms.

Patrick clambered over to me and began pushing me to the ladder, "Oliver," he whispered shrilly, staring at Zane as he wept over his brother's dormant corps, cradling him. "Go wait downstairs."

I tried to protest, struggling weakly against him. "No... Pat."

"Go," he whispered again, more sternly, yet his voice trembled with his fear.

"N-no," I wined. "I'm not leaving you."

"Go wait downstairs," he hissed, taking out his knife.

I froze, "Wh-what're you g-"

"Go. Wait. Downstairs... Now."

Dread poisoned me, but I did as I was told and stumbled to the ladder, climbing it two storeys down to the first floor. Below, a small cluster of biters had accumulated, hearing the screaming and coming to investigate the dinner bell that we hadn't meant to ring. I flattened my spine to the wall, staring up to the roof through the staircase floors, listening.

Minutes rolled past, the anxiety building like The Virus coursing through Taylor's body. Until I heard my brother.

"Zane!" he said curtly, warning him, and I knew why with the next noise I heard...

A growl.

I thought it was the biters below, but it came from above me.

"Zane, do it!" Patrick said more urgently.

There was a sob, and then a mortified, "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you," and it all stopped from a quiet _SHLUCK _as knife impaled bone and brain matter.

"You did the right thing," Patrick reassured after a long moment.

Grief ate away at me, and I bawled my hands into my eyes, silently crying and unable to comprehend how everything had gotten so bad so fast, with only the noise of Zane's crying and the biters below.

But then...

"Zane. . . Wait... What're you doing?"

I looked up a Patrick's voice, tears streaming down my face and my heart racing as I stared at the edge of the roof, hearing footsteps, scuffing against the gavel as they came closer to the edge.

"Zane. Don't! No... Y-you don't wanna do this... Stop... Please... STOP - NO!"

It happened so fast, and before anyone could do anything, Zane stepped into my view... over the edge... falling... jumping from the roof. He plummeted past the first two storey floors, but smashed into the balcony in front of me with a strangled grunt that I would never un-hear, and warm wet splattered across my face. My eyes locking on to Zane's, freezing me in place against the wall. But he kept falling, his body continuing the momentum and snapping his neck as it did, and he slipped off of the balcony, crashing into the ground.

I saw everything, unable to look away as the biters began their meal. Someone was screaming, and I only realised it was me when my throat tore open. Until something swallowed me up too. But it was Patrick. He begged me to stop and calm as he wrapped his arms around my shaking form, but I didn't, so he gave up trying, giving in to his own terror too and letting me scream into his front, and for a long time I didn't stop. Not until there was nothing left in me. Not until the air left my body and killed my voice, and I simply passed out from the trauma.

_~ x ~_

I came to when my nightmares were less terrible than reality. But my eyes remained closed, not wanting to awaken yet as I figured out my surrounding with my other four senses. I was in the truck, the rumbling from the engine vibrating the whole structure. There was something itchy under my head that was acting as a pillow, and the smell of blood clung to my nose. My body ached, and my head span, so I brought myself to finally open my eyes.

It was getting dark, almost too dark to be driving anymore, the tops of trees out of the window barely visible against the darkening purple. Patrick was in the driver seat, staring at the road in concentration and focus, using it to distract himself.

I lifted my hand, rubbing my crusty eyes. But it was only as I looked at my hand that I saw it was dried blood. I sat up quickly, rubbing furiously at my face, grunting and whimpering and disturbed as Zane's blood continued to crust off of my skin, and my stomach lurched as flashes of Zane throwing himself off of the roof invaded my mind.

"Oliver," Patrick said worriedly, noticing my turmoil.

But I started gagging, flashes of the blood, of the bite wound, of the screaming and the fear.

Patrick stopped the car, and I shoved the door open, stumbling out and hurling into the bank of a stream, seeing a few frogs scatter out of the way.

I could hear groaning, and I tried to look up as I yacked, terrified that I was about to become biter bait. But Patrick ran past me, driving his knife through the biter's eye ball, and then taking out another.

"Oliver!" he urged. "We have to get out of here!"

I forced myself to settle, only just wiping my mouth when Patrick grabbed my arm and pulled me into the back seat of the car, slamming the door closed behind us just in time before five biters shoved themselves into the structure, shaking the whole thing. I winced, afraid and hurting everywhere as he clambered past me, climbing into the front seat again and quickly speeding off away from the threat.

I stared at the biters as we escaped, the light was still on in the car, and I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection in the window. My eyes were puffy and Zane's blood was splattered over my clothes, and on my forehead between my eyebrows was a tiny, red dot of blood that I'd missed. In the same place Taylor had put the red powder. I rubbed it off, wiping my tears and trying not to throw up again.

"We've got supplies and food for a little while, after what Zane and I found in the store yesterday," Patrick told me. "We'll find a place to stop soon, sleep for the night. Then we'll figure out what to do next in the morning. We'll still go to Bowling Green. But we need to rest. Figure things out."

I nodded, unable to summon my voice.

Patrick took the hint, focussing on driving again and forcing his brave face. "Get some sleep, Oliver."

I turned to rest my head on the window, closing my eyes because I knew that Patrick was crying and didn't want me to see, so I let the cool of the glass sooth the soreness of my face, and then, without even realising, I lost my battle to my drained, exhausted state, letting slumber take me.

**Notes**

Taylor's death was inspired by Jim :( and his death was also inspired by Andrea and Amy, and Sam and his brother from The Last of Us. Again. This chapter started off a lot of fun... then it got all sad again! Ugh! I need to work on that.

It was all quite a big moment in Oliver's life, and so soon I will mention him in the main story :)

I'm not really sure what would have become of Taylor and Oliver had the former not've been bitten. Oliver didn't seem to have an actual crush on him through their time together. He was just close enough and cared enough about him to simply accept what Taylor wanted. It worries me a little that Oliver's character (because I can't actually tell him what to do anymore because he just throws pecans and red-handled-machete's at me if I try) would've been with him "like that" just to comfort him and be there for him. I'm not sure. But it's all fairly interesting to me. From him being so young and innocent, he's pretty impressionable, and his character in general would do anything to help a friend, especially if said friend was someone he truly cared about. I dunno, maybe I'm just completely over thinking this, but I'm just loving writing the way his mind works for this story. All good fun! X)

Don't forget to review, follow, favourite! It really helps out so much xx Also, thank you for getting **Stale M&M's **up to 55 followers. That means that on the 30th of March I'll update two chapters for you all!

Agh! I love you all! Thanks for being amazing!

As always,

Happy reading xx :_)_


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